


Walk the Line

by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying



Series: Collaborations [84]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Accidental Pregnancy, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Beast, Alternate Universe - No Fillory (The Magicians), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childbirth, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunken hookup, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pregnancy sex, Trans Character, Trans Pregnancy, Trans Quentin Coldwater, Transphobia, Unplanned Pregnancy, exhibited by Eliot's family, not super explicit but better safe than sorry, the condom fails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23914663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProofOfConcept/pseuds/ProofOfConcept, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: New Year's Day dawns too bright and far too early. Eliot groans and rolls away, trying to escape the sunlight falling across his face through the wide-open curtains, but his pillows and quilt seem to have slipped to the floor at some point in the night, and there is no refuge to be found. Cursing, Eliot sits up, and comes to the swift conclusion that he hates everything. His head is pounding, his mouth tastes like something died in it, and...He has no recollection of how he got to bed last night. Jesus.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: Collaborations [84]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/41362
Comments: 13
Kudos: 118





	Walk the Line

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all!!
> 
> First off, just a headsup: Quentin is trans in this, but he's long since settled into his identity, so there's not a whole lot of exploration of that in this fic. That being said, he _does_ get pregnant in this fic, and we do explore a little bit of how that fucks with him. 
> 
> There is also a scene where Quentin and Eliot talk about Quentin's boundaries during sex(while Quentin is in the bath after a doctor's appointment), and they have sex while Quentin is heavily pregnant; if that sort of thing squicks you out, once you hit:
> 
> _"What can I say? You bring out the best in me."_
> 
> After Quentin and Eliot tell Ted about their relationship, then you can Ctrl+F (or however you find a phrase in your browser of choice) and search for:
> 
> _They end up spending most of the next day in bed_
> 
> And while there will be a mention of the sex, it won't be explicit.

New Year's Day dawns too bright and far too early. Eliot groans and rolls away, trying to escape the sunlight falling across his face through the wide-open curtains, but his pillows and quilt seem to have slipped to the floor at some point in the night, and there is no refuge to be found. Cursing, Eliot sits up, and comes to the swift conclusion that he hates everything. His head is pounding, his mouth tastes like something died in it, and...

He has no recollection of how he got to bed last night. Jesus.

He's just thinking about grabbing his bedding off the floor and going back to sleep when someone knocks on his door and then shouts through it. "Are you up yet? Come on, El, I need a hangover breakfast, stat."

Eliot loves Margo dearly, but holy fuck, she has a voice like nails on a chalkboard.

He gives up on sleep pretty quick after that, and instead turns his attention to getting dressed. A shower does little for the intensity of his hangover, so he opts for the path of least resistance; he finds his most luxurious sleep pants and a silky robe, smooths a handful of leave-in conditioner through his curly hair, and calls it good. He still has a little of last night's eyeliner smudged beneath his eyes. Even feeling like death warmed over, he looks sexy as hell.

A flick of his wrist as he's on his way through the door has his bedding picking itself up and arranging itself neatly on his bed - but the movement jostles the waste paper basket he keeps beside his desk, and something in it catches his eye. Ignoring the way it makes his head scream, he stoops for a closer look - and immediately wishes he hadn't. A used condom rests innocently among the usual cigarette packets, facial wipes and snack wrappers. Eliot wrinkles his nose. Lovely.

He makes it down the hall to the kitchen without further incident and is pleased to see the rest of the gang, looking a little worse for wear, and some other people he doesn’t recognize, but assumes are some of Josh’s friends. Even hungover, Eliot has always enjoyed cooking for a large group of people. "Happy New Year, darlings!" he calls as he walks over, enjoying the way Quentin and a few of the others wince. "Hope you all had a ball last night. I'm absolutely certain I did. And to whoever I fucked, if you're still here, congratulations."

"I will murder you, hangover breakfast be damned, if you shout like that again," Kady promises darkly, and even Quentin looks like he might let her. 

" _El,_ " he says, practically whines. "Seriously. Food and quiet, please."

Eliot takes pity on them. "Bacon?" he suggests. "Sausage? Eggs? All of the above?"

"All of the above," Quentin votes, with Kady and Julia nodding from where they're slumped together on the other side of the table, Penny a lump on the cool tile floor behind them. 

Eliot smiles. "Q, you up to helping?"

Quentin hesitates for a moment, considering, then he pushes himself to his feet with a groan. "Don't make me do anything too complicated, but sure."

"Think you can handle coffee?" Eliot asks.

Quentin scoffs. "I've made coffee in worse states than this," he says, hip-checking Eliot out of the way of the coffeemaker. 

”Pushy,” Eliot hums, but leaves him to it.

Cooking with magic is almost ridiculously easy, even when hungover - though the hangovers don’t last for long when Margo returns with Alice and her miraculous hangover-cure potions in tow. The cure itself sends more than one person rushing for one of the two bathrooms in Quentin and Eliot’s apartment, and Eliot briefly thanks the heavens for magically-enhanced air freshener before turning his attention back to the stove. He and Quentin work around each other with easy familiarity, Eliot manning the stove while Quentin deals with drink orders, coaxing their little machine into giving him veritable works of art, helped along by the stash of syrups he keeps in the cabinet above the machine. For once, Eliot doesn’t tease him about his obsession with sugary coffee drinks.

Breakfast disappears far more quickly than it had appeared, the pack of wolves formerly known as Brakebills students descending upon the table in a near-frenzy that ends with practically-licked-clean plates stacked neatly in the sink, waiting to be washed, and coffee cups lined up next to the sink. Josh and his friends file out first, and one of them even goes so far as to pull Eliot in for a hug and give his ass an appreciative squeeze before he leaves.

Quentin rolls his eyes as that particular friend heads for the door, though he doesn’t say anything until it’s closed. “That’s Frank, if I’m remembering right. He squeezed my ass, too.”

"Huh," Eliot says, frowning in thought. "Is he the one I fucked? I don't remember spending much time with him, but I guess that doesn't really mean anything."

Kady snorts. "Yeah, we all know how much that doesn't mean," she drawls. 

Eliot rolls his eyes. "Whatever," he says. "I suppose it doesn't matter now. It's not like it'll ever happen again."

”Probably not,” Quentin says, sitting down and then swearing and reaching behind himself to grab a pair of those ridiculous year-shaped sunglasses. “Who the hell stuffed these down in the cushion?”

”Probably one of Josh’s other friends after you ditched last night after the ball dropped,” Julia offers. 

"Oh really?" Eliot asks, his eyebrows raised. "Where did you go?"

Quentin flushes. "Just to bed," he says, and it doesn't _sound_ like a lie, but it doesn't quite sound like the truth, either. 

Eliot frowns at him, but doesn't call him on it. "Well, as long as you all had a great night," he says, "you can all help with the cleanup."

There's a collective groan, but no one protests as they push themselves to their feet and get started. Clean up _does_ go quicker with many helping hands, but there's still no shortage of grumbling. 

Quentin can practically _feel_ Julia's gaze on him, so he's not surprised when, as he's returning a roll of toilet paper to the bathroom - _why_ was it out in the living room to begin with? - she grabs him by the elbow and pulls him into his room. She shuts and locks the door behind them, and when she turns around, Quentin sighs. "Alright, spit it out."

"You're lying," Julia says, without preamble. "About where you disappeared off to last night. Don't look at me like that, I saw you leave the party with Eliot."

"What was I supposed to say?" Quentin asks, defensive. "You heard him when he came out this morning, he doesn't remember."

"So it was you," Julia says, though it isn't a question. "You slept together. _Christ_ , Quentin!"

"I can't just - _spring_ that on him!" Quentin protests. "Not with everyone around, and not when we _live together!_ "

"But you are going to tell him?" Julia presses. "You can't just keep him in the dark about this, Q."

"Why not?" Quentin asks, and he knows before the words have even left his mouth that it's a mistake voicing this to Julia, but he can't stop himself from continuing. "We live together, Jules. And he hasn't shown any interest in me since I told him to knock it off with the propositions at the end of first year, or believe me, I'd know. Last night was a fluke, and he's fine thinking he hooked up with - with fucking _Frank,_ so let him think that."

"But he hooked up with _you_ ," Julia says. "He wasn't so drunk off his ass that he didn't know it was you at the time, otherwise you wouldn't have slept with him. If he really didn't want you, don't you think he would have gone off with Frank instead?"

Quentin has to close his eyes against a sudden sting, scrub a hand over his face. "He doesn't want me as his goddamn _boyfriend,_ " he mutters. "Never has; he wants a friend, who he can occasionally hook up with, and he just proved it. And I - " He swallows, hard, tries again. "I can't do that, even for him."

Julia sighs, and looks at him with such pity that Quentin has to look away. "This is going to eat you alive," she says.

"Maybe," Quentin sighs. "But it's better than the alternative. Better than telling him I - " He shakes his head. "Better than losing him because he doesn't want everything I do."

"You know that wouldn't happen," Julia says softly. "He loves you, Q. He wouldn't let anything stop you from being friends."

Quentin laughs, but it's quiet, choked. "That might even be worse." He shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair. "No, it's - it's fine. We were safe, he doesn't remember, and I won’t act any different. We'll just go on like we have been."

Julia sighs. "All right," she says. "Whatever you need, Q."

Quentin smiles at her, but it's a little watery. "I think... right now, I need a hug. One of those really tight ones that goes on a little too long."

Julia is at his side in an instant, and she pulls him into her arms. "I love you, Q," she murmurs. "You're going to be all right."

"Eventually," Quentin sighs, wrapping his arms around Julia and holding on tightly. "Love you, too, Jules."

* * *

Their group spends the rest of New Year's Day hanging around Quentin and Eliot's apartment before traipsing out for dinner at the one local Italian restaurant that Eliot approves of. And then... Well, life goes back to normal the next day. Kady goes back to work at the Brooklyn PD, Penny with her; Alice returns to the Library; Margo goes back to her fancy editor's office whenever she isn't running the Manhattan Tut with Eliot; Julia goes back to her research into cultural magic with new notes and ideas from Alice; and Quentin goes back to typing up lesson plans and sorting out required reading materials for the next semester at Brakebills. 

By the time the semester starts, Quentin's almost managed to make himself forget about New Year's. Well, during the day, at least. There's more than one occasion where he gets himself off long after he's gone to bed, when there's no one to see or hear him but the shadows in the corner of his room, thinking about what happened - But he's always careful not to let anything show in the morning, not to treat Eliot any differently. As far as he can tell, it's working, and by the third week of the semester, Quentin's too distracted by other things to worry any more. 

"Can you _please_ turn that down?" he grumbles, looking up from the dining room table, where he's spread out the copies of his first test of the semester to grade. "I know you're not deaf, and I swear the fucking windows are shaking."

Eliot rolls his eyes, but graciously turns the music down with a flick of his fingers. "Dramatic much?"

"I've already got a headache from some of these ridiculous answers," Quentin grouches. "Honestly, did _none_ of them do the reading?"

"Poor baby," Eliot pouts. "Do you want me to make you some tea?"

Quentin hesitates. "Peppermint tea?" he asks, hopeful.

"Of course," Eliot says as he gets to his feet. "Whatever your heart desires, darling."

Quentin makes an appreciative noise, turning back to the tests in front of him. In the time it takes for the water to heat up and the tea to steep, he manages to grade exactly two entire tests. He all but throws his pen to the side when Eliot brings the mug over, and makes unashamed grabby hands at the tea. "Gimme, I can't fucking concentrate like this."

Eliot grips the top of the mug and twists it so that Quentin can take the handle. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asks, frowning. "Maybe you should take a break."

Quentin sighs. "I need to get these graded tonight," he says, taking the tea and humming his thanks after taking the first sip. "But... I can probably take a little bit of a break now."

"Come and sit with me," Eliot suggests. "We'll watch an episode of _The IT Crowd_ and you can tell me all your woes."

Quentin glances from Eliot to the papers spread across the table, but... Well, it's not much of a choice. "Alright," he says, holding onto his mug with one hand as he pushes away from the table with the other. "But I'm gonna lie on you, too. I'm in a cuddling mood."

"Since when is that a hardship?" Eliot asks, turning to head to the couch. "I'll even play with your hair."

"Hell yeah," Quentin says happily, following Eliot to the couch and waiting only as long it takes Eliot to get settled before he all but flops down, mindful of his tea. 

Eliot lets Quentin tuck himself up against him while he navigates Netflix, and sinks a hand into his hair while the opening credits play. "Comfy?" he asks with an indulgent smile.

"Very," Quentin sighs, relaxing into Eliot's touch. "And I'll be even better when the tea kicks in. I thought I was fucking done with the cramps."

"Oh, baby," Eliot soothes, stroking Quentin's hair one way and then back the other. "Is that what's bothering you?"

Quentin hums a miserable affirmative. "I do also have a headache," he allows. "But just - I thought I was _done_ with this shit, my doctor said that I should be, when I first got on T."

"I know," Eliot says, sympathetic. "It's normal, though, right? It's happened before?"

"Not this bad," Quentin grumbles before sighing and taking another sip of his tea. "I haven't been sleeping well the past couple nights; stayed up too late working on lesson plans. Maybe that has something to do with it."

Eliot makes a soft sound and scritches his nails gently against Quentin's scalp. "How many papers do you have left?" he asks.

"Twenty," Quentin admits, pushing into Eliot's touch. "I've got two sections this semester."

Eliot sighs. "All right," he says. "Why don't I keep the tea and the encouragement coming, and when you're done I'll make you dinner and run you a bath, and you can get an early night?"

"That sounds... _really_ good," Quentin says. "But you promised me a full episode of cuddling first, and I'm holding you to that."

Eliot chuckles and keeps scritching. "Yes, dear."

* * *

Life goes on, for another month or so. Quentin's cramps eventually fade, but the headaches come and go - usually correlated to how much of a pain in the ass his students are being, and he has _so_ much more sympathy for his own professors, now his colleagues. His headaches are usually accompanied with bouts of moodiness, but Quentin's always gotten moody whenever he's lacking in sleep, so he doesn't think much of it. 

He doesn't think much of the vague nausea he sometimes gets in the morning, either; it's not uncommon for him to sleep wrong, or for his stomach to decide overnight that it doesn't _really_ care for whatever he had for dinner the night before, or his occasional midnight snack. The one time he actually throws up, Eliot is sick as well, and they are both vigorously cursing the decision to try that new sushi place that was a few blocks closer than their usual one. 

Then, almost three months after New Year's, the nausea starts getting worse, more frequent. And one night, when Quentin's lying on his stomach in bed, rereading one of the texts he's thinking of assigning to his students for the coming weekend, he feels a weird lump low in his stomach. He frowns, shifts - but the feeling's still there. Quentin maybe panics a little, but - Well. He makes a note to bring the feeling up to his doctor at his next appointment. And he is going to, but - 

He wakes up sick three mornings in a row. The strangest thing, though, is that immediately after he throws up, he feels better. And every night, he has something different to eat, so unless Eliot's trying to poison him via leftovers, he's not sick because of the food.

It's Julia who brings up the other possibility, the one Quentin had dismissed out of hand, and talks him into buying a pregnancy test from the convenience store down the street. "I still think you're wrong," Quentin says as he locks the apartment door behind him once again, thanking whatever gods exist that Eliot's at the Tut tonight working the closing shift. He’s got a little bag in one hand, pregnancy test, Arizona tea, and a couple of candy bars inside, and his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. "I've been on hormones for like, six years now. There's no way I'm _pregnant._ "

"Well, at least rule it out," Julia reasons, her voice just a little too far away. She has him flung on her bed on loudspeaker while she gets changed after the shower that Quentin pulled her out of when he called. "You won't stop wondering otherwise."

"Ugh," Quentin mutters, making his way through the apartment to his bathroom. "Why do you have to use logic against me? Alright, fine, I'm taking it."

"Good boy," Julia calls. "I'm right here, Q."

Quentin sighs. "Okay, I'm doing it," he says, and ducks into the bathroom before he can change his mind. He tries not to think too hard on what he's doing and _why,_ but it's a little difficult to do until Julia starts chattering at him again, drawing him into a conversation that lasts until the needed wait time is up. Quentin's listening to Julia's musings on a potential difference in tut formation between two cultures with half an ear as he looks at the little stick - and then he sucks in a sharp breath. " _Fuck._ "

"What?" Julia asks sharply, and she suddenly sounds a lot closer. "Q, what?"

"It - Jules. There's _two_ lines."

"Fuck," Julia breathes. There's a soft thump, like she's just sat down on her bed very abruptly. "Quentin, you're pregnant."

There's a sharp intake of breath on Quentin’s end of the line, and then a clatter, followed by a _thunk_ that's too loud to be from the pregnancy test hitting the floor. 

"Quentin?" Julia demands. " _Quentin!_ "

* * *

The next thing Quentin knows, there's a furious pounding on the bathroom door. His first thought is of Eliot, naturally, and that only makes him retreat further into himself - but then he hears a decidedly female voice. "I swear to all that is fucking holy, Coldwater, if you don't open this door right now, I will break it down and I will break _you_!"

Somehow, Quentin ended up on the floor, back pressed against the cool surface of the tub. He opens his mouth, tries to call out, but has to swallow, wet his lips, and try again. "It's unlocked," he manages to rasp out. "I - Um. Don't think my legs are working right now." 

The door bursts open and then Kady is in front of him, crouching down and grasping his hands. "Hey," she says, a lot softer than before. "Hey, Julia called me, said it was some kind of emergency. What's going on, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I - I was on the phone with her, I think I dropped it?" Quentin glances at the floor of the bathroom, spots his phone next to - He swallows, hard. "It... is an emergency. I don't. I don't know if I'm okay, honestly."

"All right," Kady says, low and soothing. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

Quentin laughs, a little hysterically, and everything pours out before he can stop himself. "I took a fucking home pregnancy test, because I've been nauseous, threw up three days in a row, I've been moody as hell and there was this weird lump that I thought might be a goddamn _tumor,_ and Julia told me to rule out pregnancy because I hooked up with Eliot on New Year's and we were _safe,_ we used a condom and everything, but - _Fuck,_ I guess my luck is just really that fucking shitty, the one goddamn time I have sex with someone capable of knocking me up, the condom fucking fails."

Kady's jaw literally drops. "You're _pregnant?_ "

"According to that little piece of plastic over there, yeah."

Kady blows out a slow breath - and then her grip on Quentin's hands tightens. "All right," she says. "Can you stand up? I think we should try to talk about this somewhere else."

Quentin drags in a shaky breath, is mortified to hear the way it hitches, catching in his throat. "I - Yeah. Um. If you help me," he whispers. 

Kady nods and gets to her feet, adjusting her stance so that she can take Quentin's weight. "Come on, Coldwater, you gotta help me out here."

It takes a moment, and actual conscious effort, to get his legs moving, but with Kady's help Quentin is on his feet soon enough. "Let's, um, go to my room?"

"Yeah," Kady agrees. "We'll spell the door shut in case Eliot comes home."

"He shouldn't be back for a while," Quentin says, swiping his hand over his face, "but yeah. Better safe than sorry."

Kady gives him a soft smile. "Come on." She lets Quentin lead the way, and does spell the door locked and soundproof behind them. Then she gets Quentin to sit on his bed, and sits next to him with her feet curled up. Her expression is one of concern, but not, Quentin is pleased to note, pity. "Where are you at?" she asks. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Quentin says, huffing a laugh. "But I - _Fuck,_ I just can't believe this is happening. And what the fuck am I supposed to do?"

"Whatever you want," Kady says simply. "You don't have to decide right now, but this is your body, Quentin. You can keep it, tell him or not tell him. Or you don't have to keep it, if you don't want to."

Quentin's head snaps up, his eyes wide. "You mean - abortion?" He hesitates, biting his lip. "I guess I kind of… forgot that was an option."

"Well, it is," Kady says. "It's totally fine if you don't want to keep it."

"I don't - " Quentin shakes his head, tries again. "I thought, if I was ever going to be a dad, I'd adopt someday. Someday way off in the future. I never thought I'd actually _carry_ the kid!" He thinks about it, for a moment - thinks about going to the doctor, to the clinic. Getting up on that table pregnant and coming down _not,_ not having to worry for the next several months and _years_ about this tiny little life in the making. "I never thought I'd live long enough to be a parent," he confesses in a whisper, looking down at his hands, clasped in his lap. "But I. I think I want to be."

Kady touches his hand. "You can be," she says. "But if you're not ready, it doesn't have to be now. You shouldn't make this decision right away."

Quentin shakes his head, more of a reflex than a denial. "No, I - " He swallows, wets his lips, and looks up to finally meet Kady's gaze. "I want this," he realizes. "I want to do this. Or at least, I want to know more? About what to expect, if I do go through with it. But I-I can't tell Eliot either way."

"That's fine," Kady says, a little too softly. "We won't tell Eliot if you don't want to. Why don't we get you into bed, and you can see how you feel in the morning?"

Quentin shakes his head again. "I'm not going to be able to sleep," he says. "I'll just lie there and work myself into a panic attack for real this time."

Kady doesn't budge. "I can give you something to help you sleep," she says, "and I can be here when you wake up in the morning. I'll pull some strings overnight and see if I can get you in with a doctor first thing, okay?"

Quentin rakes a hand through his hair; the restless energy under his skin demands movement of _some_ kind. "Okay," he says, eventually. "Just - The sooner I have more information, the sooner I can make a decision."

"I know," Kady says, sympathetic but still unmoving. "But even if you had all of the information right now, you still wouldn't be in a good place to make a decision. You're in shock, Quentin."

Quentin wants to protest, but he can't deny that the way he's feeling right now is an awful lot like the time he broke his arm in tenth grade after a bet with Julia that he couldn't jump down all of the stairs at once. "Fine," he sighs. "Just - Thank you, Kady."

"You don't need to thank me," Kady says, and stands up. "You gonna be okay for five minutes?"

"Yeah," Quentin says, nodding. "I'm just. Gonna go ahead and lie down. Um. Could you grab my phone from the bathroom, please?"

"Of course," Kady says. "I'm going to make you some tea. You'll sleep until morning, and you won't dream, okay?"

"Okay," Quentin sighs, mustering up enough energy for a small smile. "That sounds - really good right about now."

Kady smiles gently. "I'll be back in a minute."

* * *

The tea works exactly as Kady promised; Quentin barely has enough time to text Julia and let her know that Kady found him and he’s doing okay before he’s out like a light, and Kady retreats to the living room to let him sleep. She starts making calls, pulling strings and calling in favors, and by the time Eliot’s key is in the lock, she’s just finishing up her last call. “Yeah,” she says, waving absently to Eliot when he pauses at the sight of her. “Yeah, we can be there by nine. Thanks again for this, I wouldn’t have - No, no you don’t need to thank _me_ , that’s now how this - “ She laughs, shaking her head. “Yeah, alright. After this we’re even, though, okay? Yeah, you stay safe, too.”

"Kady," Eliot says, once she's hung up. He's frowning, a little perplexed, but not unwelcoming. "To what do we owe the pleasure? Where's Q?"

”Sleeping,” Kady answers, tucking her phone into her pocket. “It’s - a long story, but Julia wanted me to check up on him, and I offered him some help with a problem he’s got.”

"What problem?" Eliot asks. He peels his coat off and hangs it up by the door, glancing nervously towards Quentin's room. "Is he okay?"

"I gave him that dreamless sleep tea, so he's okay for now," Kady says. "And I can't tell you his problem because it's _his_ problem."

Eliot's frown deepens. "I'm going to check on him," he says.

"Don't wake him up," Kady warns, though she doesn't make a move to stop Eliot. "He needs all the sleep he can get right now, we're gonna be busy tomorrow."

Just like Kady said, Quentin is fast asleep when Eliot goes into his room. He looks soft and peaceful, completely untroubled, if not for the way he's lying curled in on himself in the middle of the bed. A truly untroubled Quentin - or as untroubled as Quentin gets - sleeps sprawled out across every inch of available mattress and, on the not-so-few occasions when Eliot has shared a bed with him, a few inches of unavailable mattress, too. Only when he's in the depths of depression or anxiety does Quentin sleep curled up like this, like he's trying to make himself as small as possible in order to protect himself from all of his demons. He always looks young when he's like this, impossibly vulnerable, and it makes something in Eliot ache to see it. He crosses over to the bed, careful not to disturb him, and gently smooths some of Quentin's hair back from his lovely face. He hesitates only for a moment, and then he stoops to brush a kiss to his forehead as well. He leaves without making a sound.

Kady is still sitting where he left her when he gets back to the living room, and Eliot sighs. "I'm guessing if you're still here at almost four in the morning that you're not actually leaving tonight," he says. "I can get you a blanket and a pillow, make up the couch?"

Kady studies him for a moment before she nods, offering Eliot a tired smile. “That would be great, thanks.”

* * *

Quentin’s no less anxious when he wakes up, but he has to admit that he _is_ in a better frame of mind. He’s grateful that Eliot is still asleep by the time they leave, though; he doesn’t think he can face him just yet.

He and Kady take a bus to Dr Larosh’s clinic; she’s a hedge witch who Kady helped out of a tricky spot a month or so ago, and owed Kady a favor. She’s paying it back by working Quentin in on such short notice, Kady explains as they walk up to the doors of the unassuming building. Quentin’s anxiety spikes as they walk through the doors, but Kady helps him through the check-in process, stays a steady rock by his side as they’re taken to the back and Dr Larosh begins a quick physical examination after getting his history. 

Magicians don’t need bloodwork to determine most conditions the way that non-magicians do, so it’s the work of several minutes and a few complicated tuts for Dr Larosh to confirm what the home pregnancy test had already told Quentin: He’s pregnant.

From there, they move on to answering Quentin’s questions about the pregnancy, what he can expect from a magical pregnancy and from the interaction of both his own hormones and the T he’s been on for years. Kady writes everything down - “Julia told me that might be a good idea,” she murmurs to Quentin when he gives her little notepad a questioning look - and even asks a few questions of her own, and by the time they’re ready to leave, Quentin feels like he has the information he needs to make a decision. He’s still not ready to actually _make_ that decision, but he feels like he can, now.

Kady walks him back to his and Eliot’s apartment, gives him the notes she’d taken and even offers to walk him all the way in, but Quentin turns her down, tells her to go home, get some rest. They say their goodbyes, and then Quentin heads for the elevator, taking it up to his and Eliot’s apartment, and after a moment’s hesitation, he lets himself in.

Quentin was hoping that maybe Eliot would still be asleep, that he could sneak back into his soundproofed room and call Julia before he had to talk to Eliot again, but no dice. Eliot’s at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in his hands still hot enough for steam to curl delicately in the air above it, and he looks like he only just woke up. Quentin pauses in the middle of kicking his shoes off, tucks the paper that Kady had given him into his pocket before giving Eliot a wan smile. “Morning. Technically?”

Eliot smiles back. "I'll take it," he says. "Are you okay? I spoke to Kady last night, she said you were having a rough time."

"Yeah, I'm - I've just got a lot to think about," Quentun says, running a hand through his hair in a nervous tic. "It's just. Kinda sudden, y'know? And I don't do well having things sprung on me."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Eliot asks, gesturing for Quentin to join him.

Quentin hesitates, but shakes his head. "No, I - I need some time to sort out my thoughts first," he says, and he _knows_ it doesn't sound right, not like him, when he's never hesitated to sort out his thoughts with Eliot before, but he can't help it, and he _definitely_ can't sort these particular thoughts out in Eliot's company. The smile he gives Eliot is strained, nervous, as he hastens to add, "I will talk about it later, I promise. But I... I need some time to - to process first."

The concern shows in Eliot's eyes, and even a little hurt, but he doesn't push. "All right," he says. "Is there anything I can do to help, or take your mind off it for a little while?"

"I appreciate the thought, but I'm just gonna go to my room," Quentin says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "This... isn't really something I can take my mind off of just yet."

Yeah, that's definitely hurt in Eliot's eyes, but it's gone a moment later. "All right," he says again. "You know where I am."

Quentin doesn't say anything else, just gives Eliot a tight smile before retreating down the hall. He ducks into his room, fingers already moving to activate the soundproofing wards, and as soon as they're active, he's calling Julia. "Hey," he says, as soon as she picks up, "I just got back from the doctor."

"Kady texted me when she dropped you off," Julia admits. "How did it go?"

"Good, I think?" Quentin laughs a little breathlessly as he drops to the bed. "Dr Larosh confirmed that I'm pregnant. And she answered all the questions that Kady or I could think to ask."

"That's great, Q," Julia says, too softly. "How do you feel?"

"I'm still kinda... I can't really believe this is happening?" Quentin tries. "But I just spent over an hour with a doctor who says it is. And she gave me a pretty thorough rundown on what to expect if I go through with the pregnancy, so now I just need to decide... if I'm going to do that."

"Okay," Julia says. "You know you don't have to rush into any kind of decision."

"I know," Quentin says, lying back on the bed and staring at his ceiling as he talks. "But I... I think I might want to keep it?"

Julia lets out a slow breath. "All right," she says. "Talk more about that?"

"It's not just because it's Eliot's kid," Quentin starts with, shifting on the bed. "I'm not - Don't yell at me for this, but I'm not going to tell him it's his if I keep it. He's never wanted to be a father, and with his own childhood... No, I can't - won't - ask him to do that." Quentin pauses, takes a breath. "I always figured, if I lived long enough to _be_ a dad, I'd adopt. But it was still something I wanted, one day way in the future, before I got distracted with, y'know, _magic._ Now that I have the chance though, I - I want to see it through. It's going to be rough, I know, but I've got good friends, and I'm in a good place, mentally. I think I can handle it."

"Okay," Julia says. She sounds thoughtful, but not judgemental. "Have you thought about what carrying this child is going to be like? I'm not trying to be an asshole, but you need to think about what that's going to do to your mental health."

"Yeah," Quentin sighs, shifting again and startling when he realizes his free hand has fallen to his stomach, just below his navel. "At some point I'll have to come off of T, and that'll be the hardest. But I have good meds, I've got a support system, and I'm starting from a good place. I can handle it, especially when the payoff is worth it."

"And the secret?" Julia presses. "You know we're all going to be here for you, but that means Eliot will be, too, and you live with him - so he's going to be around more than anyone else."

"If he doesn't have a reason to think he's the father, it won't be a problem," Quentin says firmly. "We've managed to keep our rhythm so far, we'll find a new one easy enough."

But Julia doesn't let up. "Quentin," she says, "you're in love with him. The father of your child is going to be all over you for the next nine months, except that he doesn't know why."

"Six months," Quentin corrects. "I'm three along." He blows a breath before conceding, "You're not wrong, but I can deal with it, Jules. I know him."

Julia sighs. "Okay," she says. "I'm going to try to take some leave soon, so I can be around as much as I can, but I need you to lean on Kady if you need to, okay? I know you guys aren't the closest but she's a good person."

Quentin smiles. "I know," he says. "I will, I promise."

"Thank you," Julia murmurs. "I love you, Q."

"I love you, too, Jules."

* * *

That night, Quentin puts a text into the group chat inviting everyone over the next day, and then he settles in to trying to keep himself distracted until it's time to tell everyone this huge, life-changing decision he's made. He busies himself with schoolwork that night and most of the next morning, unable to ignore the looks that Eliot's giving him. All he can do is hope that Eliot will forgive him for his behavior once he knows _why_ Quentin's been acting the way he has. Still, Quentin can't help but pace nervously as the clock inches closer to the time that everyone had agreed to meet, and he knows it's affecting Eliot, though he can't quite tell if Eliot's annoyed or concerned. "Sorry," he says, as he passes Eliot's spot on the couch for the fourth time. "I just - can't sit still."

"It's fine," Eliot says, his sharp gaze following Quentin's movements. "I just wish you'd tell me what's going on."

"I'll tell you when everyone else gets here," Quentin says, the same answer he gave the last time Eliot said that. "I don't think I can get through this more than once."

Eliot sighs and looks away, and Quentin can't tell if he's put out because he's worried or because Quentin won't confide in him over the others. Either way, he doesn't push. "Well, they should be here soon," he says. "Do I need to break out the top-shelf whiskey?"

Quentin shrugs. "You can if you want, I'm not gonna be drinking. Alcohol won't help."

Eliot's eyes widen. "Jesus."

Quentin frowns, glancing back at Eliot. "What? You know my anxiety doesn't always mix well with alcohol, and it's just about through the roof right now."

"Yeah, I know," Eliot says. "It's just obviously something really fucking bad."

Quentin makes a face at that. "Yeah, I know, it's wild, isn't it? That there's a problem bad enough alcohol _won't_ help."

Eliot's eyebrows shoot up almost to his hairline. "All right," he says. "Fucking hell, Q."

Quentin blows out a breath, but before he can apologize, there's a knock at the door. "I'll get it," he says, already turning. 

Thankfully, everyone arrives together for once; when Quentin opens the door, Margo is the first one through, followed by Alice, then Kady and Penny. Alice gives him a small smile as she passes, and Kady reaches out to pass a hand over his arm in a brief, supportive gesture, but Penny is the first one to speak. "Jesus, Coldwater, you finally managed to patch those leaks in your wards."

Quentin rolls his eyes as he shuts the door. "Yeah, well, maybe I didn't want my psychic friend to get hit with the full force of my anxiety today."

"Why don't we all sit down?" Eliot suggests, his voice just a little terse.

Margo drops down onto the couch next to Eliot, immediately tucking herself in against his side. "What was so fucking important you had to call _all_ of us together to tell us in person?" she asks, watching Quentin with sharp eyes as Alice sits on Eliot's other side, Penny and Kady taking the loveseat and leaving the armchair for Quentin. "You couldn't just text it out?"

"No," Quentin sighs, sinking into the armchair, but still fidgeting, still a little twitchy. "It's - It's big. And I suck at keeping secrets, so I figured I should tell you all now, kind of... I don't know, rip the bandaid off?"

"So rip it off," Margo says impatiently. 

Quentin takes a deep breath, glances to the side at Kady, and then does so. "I'm pregnant."

Margo gasps, loudly, and Alice lets out a soft, " _Oh._ " Eliot doesn't react at all.

"You mean you're not a virgin?" Penny demands.

Quentin snorts, but Penny's remark eases some tension in his shoulders. "I was a _Physical_ kid," he reminds Penny with a laugh. "But no, hooking up over the holidays wasn't the first time I've had sex, either."

"The holidays?" Margo repeats with a slow smile. "Have you been hiding a secret boyfriend from us?"

Quentin's snort sounds almost painful this time. "Do you honestly think I could keep that a secret? When I live with _Eliot?_ "

"So it was a random hook-up," Margo surmises. "Didn't know you had it in you, honey."

"Guys," Alice says, "we need to take this seriously." She looks up at Quentin, her eyes huge. "Are you okay?"

The smile Quentin gives Alice is soft, fond. "I am," he says. "For the most part. It's gonna be a little harder when - Well, I'm keeping it. The pregnancy. And at some point, I'm gonna have to go off of T, and it'll be a bit harder to deal with then, but. Right now, I'm actually... pretty okay."

"That's great," Alice whispers. "I'm really happy for you, Q."

"Yeah," Margo says, bolstered by Alice. "If this is what you really want, then, yeah. Congrats."

"I'm not gonna lie, it's gonna be weird seeing you with a belly," Penny says, "but congrats, man."

Quentin makes a face, but he finally, _finally_ relaxes back into the armchair. "Yeah, I've just about accepted the next six months are gonna be a weird time, body-image-wise. But I'm mostly looking forward to after, when the kid’s here."

"We'll look out for you," Kady promises, earning herself a strange look from Penny. "You won't be going through this alone."

"Right," Alice agrees softly. She smiles at Quentin.

"Thanks," Quentin says, sincere, with a smile of his own for everyone. 

The conversation shifts then, more towards what Quentin's plans are, things he's going to need to consider both medically and practically moving forward. Eventually, the conversation changes gears again, towards everyone else and what they've been up to since New Year's, but still... 

Eliot doesn't say much, and when he _does_ speak, it's never to Quentin. 

Quentin lets the matter rest until everyone else has left. Once the door has finally closed behind Margo, Quentin takes a moment to just breathe, and then he releases the handle so he can turn. He finds Eliot in the kitchen, rinsing out the glasses they'd brought out partway through the afternoon. "So," he says, leaning against a cabinet and doing his best to keep his voice steady, "you weren't really talkative this afternoon."

"Yeah," Eliot says, "seemed like everyone else had it covered."

"Maybe, but you didn't say anything to me until just now," Quentin points out. 

Eliot places the glass in his hand on the draining board and reaches for the next one. "What do you want me to say?"

"Well, I would hope that we're good enough friends that you'd say _something,_ so the fact that you haven't said anything is a little concerning."

Eliot sighs. "I'm happy for you," he says. "Like Margo said, if you're sure you want this, then that's great, and I'll help however I can."

"That'd be a little more convincing if you looked me in the eye while you said that," Quentin bites out before letting out a sigh of his own. "Whatever, I'm going to go get a shower."

Finally, Eliot turns to him. "Q, wait."

Quentin pauses in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Eliot says, and Quentin knows how difficult it is for him to say that. "I'm not trying to be an asshole about this. It's just... a shock, I guess, and." He swallows, and the next words out of his mouth are rushed. "And it's messing with me that you didn't feel like you could tell me. A little."

Quentin blinks, turning to face Eliot more fully. "It was a shock to me, too," he says. "I - Julia talked me into taking a pregnancy test when I told her I threw up three days in a row, then she called Kady to check on me when I freaked out at the results and dropped my phone. It kinda just... happened too fast for me to think about _telling_ anyone until I knew what I was going to do."

Eliot winces. "Okay," he says. He offers Quentin a smile. "I guess if I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around it, it must have been ten times worse for you. I just don't want you to feel like you can't talk to me."

Quentin returns Eliot's smile with one of his own. "Yeah, it's pretty wild. It wasn't that I didn't feel like I could talk to you, it was... more the subject. I mean, how the hell do you even bring that sort of thing up?"

"You figured it out eventually," Eliot points out. He sighs and opens his arms. "Come here."

Quentin's smile softens, and he walks forward without hesitation, fitting himself into Eliot's arms the way he always does. "I am sorry for making you feel like I was... excluding you," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around Eliot's waist and returning the embrace. 

Eliot rests one hand on the small of Quentin's back and cradles the back of his head with the other, holding him against him. "And I'm sorry I was a massive dick. Look at us, we're growing as people." He smiles, and squeezes Quentin tighter. "Congratulations, Q. You're going to be a daddy."

Quentin laughs, his expression scrunching. "Please don't use that word in reference to me, you ruined it forever somewhere around the fifth Cottage party."

Eliot snorts and releases him. "Whatever," he says. "Have you told the father yet?"

"No," Quentin says, shaking his head. "I'm not going to tell him. It was a one night stand, doesn't mean he wants to be a father."

Eliot's eyes widen. "Do you know who it was?" he asks.

Quentin gives him a withering look. "Yeah, I do. But trust me, he doesn't want that kind of responsibility. So, I'm not telling him and putting him in that position."

"All right," Eliot says, "I was just asking. If it's someone you know or someone you work with, it's going to be awkward."

"It's going to be awkward no matter what," Quentin says dryly. "And if he ever approaches me about it, I'll... figure something out. But I doubt he will."

Eliot shrugs. "Okay," he says. "Well, screw him then. This kid doesn't need him in its life if he doesn't even want it. It just needs you, and all its wonderful aunts and uncles."

Quentin smiles, and if there's something a little wistful about it, it doesn't show in his voice. "Yeah, this kid's gonna have plenty of family," he says. "Besides, blood family is often overrated."

"Exactly," Eliot agrees. "Found family is the best family."

* * *

Margo's been in the office she shares with Eliot at the Manhattan Tut for all of an hour when Eliot ducks inside, shutting the door after him. "Took you long enough," she sighs. "Amanda and Jacob have been tiptoeing around you all day, thanks to that thundercloud over your head."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Eliot says archly, even as he flops into the chair across from Margo.

"Sure you don't," Margo says, rolling her eyes. "You and I both know you're going to tell me what's bothering you anyway, so you might as well spit it out now."

Eliot heaves a huge, dramatic sigh, but he does spit it out. "It's Quentin," he says. "Specifically, Quentin's pregnancy."

That makes Margo sit up straight. "What about it?"

Eliot gazes at her imploringly. "If I put words to it, it's going to make me sound like a horrible person," he says. "Like, a lot worse than usual. Can't you just look into my eyes and use our profound connection to intuit it all?"

"No," Margo says bluntly. "Because I'm not the psychic, Penny is." She gives him a saccharine-sweet smile. "I can call him if you like."

Eliot grimaces. "I hate you," he says. "And I hate that he slept with someone and got knocked up, okay?"

Margo raises an eyebrow. "Which part of that last bit do you hate? Because if you hate the fact that Q's pregnant, I might have to smack you."

"Then smack me," Eliot sighs. "Or don't. It's-- not that he _is_ pregnant, it's that... He _got_ pregnant. Because in order to do that, he had to fuck someone."

"Someone who isn't you," Margo finishes.

"Yeah," Eliot says. "Now you see why I'm a terrible person. He can do what he wants, obviously, and if he wants to have not-so-safe sex with a stranger, that's... fine. Except that it's Q, and he doesn't _do_ one night stands."

"He doesn't, usually," Margo agrees, "but obviously he did this time. Honestly, El, I'm not feeling too sympathetic towards you right now. You don't have a leg to stand on with the whole - " She waves a hand in his general vicinity - "jealousy thing. You never told him you have _feelings_ for him."

"Because he's never shown an interest in me!" Eliot hisses. "I've never hidden my attraction to him, but he's always ignored it, so there's no use in telling him it's _more_. I just-- I always thought _maybe_ , maybe I stood a chance, and it was just that he doesn't do casual. But apparently he does, just... not when it's me."

Margo rolls her eyes. "Maybe he would have shown an interest in you if he knew you wanted more than casual," she points out. "He told you to quit trying to pick him up if you weren't looking for a relationship, not that he never wanted to fuck you at all, El. Besides, we all have lapses in judgement and do stupid shit, like have a one night stand."

"What does it matter?" Eliot asks. "Whatever the circumstances, he fucked someone and he's pregnant and it's not-- It doesn't matter. None of it matters because I'm _jealous_ and I have to _live with him_."

"Yes, you do," Margo says, unsympathetic. "So ovary up, Waugh. Your feelings being hurt isn't as big a deal as him, a _trans_ guy, being pregnant and deciding to keep the pregnancy."

"I know," Eliot says, because he does. Of course brave, wonderful Quentin is keeping the baby, but of course it's going to be incredibly hard. "I just-- I wanted to talk to someone before I exploded it all over him."

Margo sighs. "That's the last thing he needs," she agrees. "He needs all the support we can give him, El. So stuff your feelings in a box for a while, okay? I'll take you out and get you drunk once in a while, let you cry it all out, but Q doesn't need you to emotion-vomit all over him right now."

Like Eliot doesn't already know that. He sighs. "Thanks, Bambi."

* * *

The last thing Eliot expects when he unlocks their front door at almost 4am is to find Quentin sitting up waiting for him. They haven't really seen a lot of each other this past week. Eliot has been taking the night shifts at the Tut, has been decidedly Not Home whenever he hasn't been working. It's been effective in facilitating his avoidance of Quentin, but apparently Quentin himself has other ideas about that. Great.

"Hey," Eliot says, busying himself with his coat and shoes so that he doesn't have to look at Quentin. "You're up late."

"Up early," Quentin corrects. "Haven't really seen you lately, figured this would be my best chance at catching you."

"Sorry," Eliot says, and it's even honest. "I've just been working a lot lately."

"Yeah, I know," Quentin says, taking a sip of the coffee in his hands. "The Tut's still doing good, then?"

"Always," Eliot says, smiling despite himself. "You should probably get some sleep, though."

"I went to bed early last night," Quentin says. "Had a big day; doctor's appointment for the first ultrasound."

"Wow," Eliot says. "That's great, Q."

Quentin's smile is shy. "Yeah. I mean, you can't _really_ see anything, even where the doctor circled, but I still got a printout to bring home. I thought maybe I'd make a scrapbook or something, I don't know." He hesitates for just a moment before offering, "Do you want to see it?"

It's there, Eliot realises, the little printout is right there in Quentin's hand. Something unpleasant swoops in his stomach, and he shakes his head. "Uhh, maybe tomorrow? I'm really tired, I think I'm just gonna go straight to bed."

Something an awful lot like hurt flashes across Quentin's face, but it's gone in an instant, replaced by a slight, sympathetic smile. "Yeah, no, you've been working late a lot, you should go sleep," he says with a nod. 

The smile Eliot offers him in return is a little tight around the corners of his mouth. "I'll look tomorrow," he says. "Like you said, I won't be able to tell what it is yet anyway."

"Right, yeah, no," Quentin says, nodding again. "It's fine. Go on, go get some sleep, I'll talk to you later."

"Sure," Eliot agrees easily enough. He heads towards his room, waving vaguely behind him. "Night, Q."

"Night, El."

* * *

The next day finds Quentin and Kady out getting dinner after Kady's shift is over and Quentin is done with his classes for the day. It's nothing fancy, just hibachi takeout from a place halfway between the precinct and the apartment Kady shares with Penny and Julia when she's in town. Quentin meets her on the other side of the portal to Brakebills, and they head out. It's only after they've picked up their food and are walking back to Penny and Kady's place that Quentin finally brings up what's been bothering him all week. "Eliot's been acting weird."

"He's always weird," Kady points out, though she cuts Quentin a concerned look. "Weird like how?"

Quentin toys with the handles of his bag. "I think he's avoiding me," he confesses. "He's been working the late shifts at the Tut all week, and yesterday when he got home, I asked if he wanted to see the printout from the ultrasound. He said he was tired, he'd look at it later - but then when he finally got up he just... Didn't talk about anything, really."

Kady frowns. "What's his problem?"

"I don't know," Quentin sighs. "I just... The only thing I can think is it's the pregnancy. That he's got a problem with that and just - isn't telling me."

"Could you ask him?" Kady wonders. "Do you want me to?"

Quentin worries his lip for a moment before admitting, "I'm afraid of what the answer might be. I mean, he's my best friend, next to Julia, and if he _does_ have a problem with this, what am I supposed to do? We live together."

Kady shrugs. "You don't have to."

Quentin frowns. "Don't have to what?"

"Live together."

Quentin's eyebrows rise to meet his hairline. "Where else would I live?"

"It wouldn't be hard to find somewhere," Kady points out, "or you could move in with us."

Quentin snorts, but he's smiling. "You sure Penny would be fine with that?"

Kady shrugs. "He doesn't really get a vote."

That gets an outright laugh, and Quentin steps in just close enough to bump his shoulder against Kady's. "Well, I appreciate that," he says honestly. "And if it gets to that point, I'll let you know. But I want to give Eliot a chance to pull his head out of his ass before I move out."

Kady grins back at him. "If he needs any help with the extraction, just let me know."

* * *

Eliot does look at the picture from Quentin's ultrasound, but not with Quentin present. He tacked it to the fridge with a smiley-face magnet after a couple of days of waiting for Eliot to ask him about it, and Eliot does feel guilty, but it's better this way, to look at it alone standing in the kitchen at 4am with a warm mug of honey and lemon - just a splash of whiskey - cradled between his hands. Quentin was right, the vague squiggles and shadows on the picture make no sense to him at all, no distinctive baby shape easily discernible, but it still makes Eliot's breath catch in his throat, a hot pricking behind his eyes. It's beautiful. He wishes he were brave enough to tell Quentin he thinks so.

They don't really speak much for another week, although Eliot makes an effort to shift his work hours so that there's a little more overlap between their time spent at home. They see each other always in passing, more often than not around dinner time when Quentin is just getting home from work and Eliot is just leaving. They're friendly, they say hi and chat briefly before one of them has to leave, but they don't talk for more than a minute at a time and never about anything meaningful. Eliot is perfectly content to continue like this until he finally manages to get his shit together, but something finally catches his attention when he gets home just a shade earlier than usual on a Friday night. Well, it's three thirty on Saturday morning. Whatever.

The point is, the light is on in Quentin's bedroom, glowing faintly from beneath the closed door, and with the exception of the last time he cornered Eliot, Quentin is never up this late. Eliot tries not to think about it while he peels himself out of his coat and shoes, tries instead to wonder whether there's any leftovers in the fridge that he could reheat before going to bed - but Quentin could be sick, or worried about something. There could be something wrong with the baby. Eliot hasn't exactly been a great friend lately, but he can't just ignore something as out of the ordinary as this, when he knows from overheard conversations and illicit chats with Margo how tired the early stages of the pregnancy have been making Quentin feel lately.

He knocks gently on the door, but when there's no response from within he gives up on good roommate ethics and lets himself in. The relief he feels is heady and immediate. Quentin is fine, fast asleep on top of his covers with his laptop open on his knees. He looks adorable - but also like he's going to regret the position he's in come morning. Eliot creeps over and gently eases the laptop away from him, the screen blinking to life as he does so, and curls a hand around Quentin's shoulder.

"Q?" he murmurs. "Come on, wake up. Your back is going to hate you in the morning if you sleep like this."

Quentin makes a disgruntled noise not unlike a cat being woken from its nap in a sunbeam, but his eyes blink open. It takes him a moment to focus on Eliot, but then he frowns, rubs at his eye with a knuckle. "El? What time izzit?"

"Like, three thirty," Eliot says softly. "Come on, let's get you into bed, huh?" He turns to grab the laptop, to shift it off the bed so that Quentin can get under the covers more easily, but freezes when he sees what's on the screen. "Q, what is this?"

Quentin's frown deepens as he follows Eliot's gaze - and then he goes almost deathly pale. "Shit." His gaze flicks back to Eliot's face, his eyes wide. "Um, it's not - not like I've made a decision, I was just doing some... research?"

"Research," Eliot repeats. "You're looking at apartments, Q."

Well, it's not like Quentin can deny it when the evidence is right in front of their faces. "Yes," he says, voice small. 

Hurt and panic lance white-hot through Eliot like a knife. " _Why?_ "

"Because _this_ -" Quentin makes a vague gesture towards his stomach - "is obviously making you uncomfortable! We hardly talk anymore, El, and even when we do you barely _look_ at me. And I can't - _won't_ \- live like that."

"No," Eliot says, soft and wounded, "it's not like that. I'm not uncomfortable with you being _pregnant_ , Jesus."

"Well, then what the fuck is it?" Quentin asks, a little desperately. "It's the only thing I can think of, and - " He cuts himself off with a shaky breath, his gaze falling to his lap. "You're my best friend next to Jules," he whispers, choked and wet. "And she's on the other side of the fucking planet. I need my other best friend to be here, with me. I need your support, El. And if moving out is what makes it easier for you to get over whatever hang-up you've got, then that's what I'll do."

" _No,_ " Eliot says again, and he can't fucking do this anymore. He drags Quentin towards him into a crushing hug. "No, I don't want you to _leave_ , God. I'm sorry, I'll do better, I swear."

Quentin goes easily into the hug, wrapping his arms around Eliot and clutching at his shirt, bunching the fabric between his fingers. "Okay," he breathes, face tucked into the crook of Eliot's neck. His voice is barely audible as he continues, "I don't want to leave, either. I just... couldn't think of anything else to do."

"I'm sorry," Eliot repeats, and his hand goes to the back of Quentin's head, pressing him closer. "I didn't mean to make you feel like this. I'll... be around more, and whatever else you need from me, you just need to ask, okay?"

Quentin nods against Eliot, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. "Okay," he whispers. "I - Can we just... lie down?"

"Yeah, of course," Eliot says, and pulls back so that he can finally grab the laptop. He closes it firmly, glad to have the apartment listings out of sight, and gives Quentin a tentative smile. "Is this an all-night deal? 'Cause I should probably get out of these clothes."

Quentin bites his lip before nodding. "I've... _really_ missed you, and if you don't have anything to do tomorrow..." He trails off, giving Eliot a hesitant, hopeful look. 

Eliot feels his smile melt into something fond and indulgent. God help him. "Let me get changed and I'll be right back, okay? Get the fuck into bed."

Quentin laughs, the last bit of tension finally leaking from his frame as he shifts, reaching for the hem of his shirt. "Yeah, yeah. Hurry back, El."

It doesn't take long for Eliot to change, and then he's back wearing sleep pants and a t-shirt. Most people don't get to see him like this, but Quentin's seen him in much worse states, so it's nothing at all to pad over to the bed with bare feet and slip beneath the covers. Quentin's already in bed with the lights off, but Eliot can still see him fine as he lays his head on the other pillow, his hand resting innocently between them. He doesn't feel vulnerable at all, or like his whole body is a live wire, being this close to Quentin after avoiding him for so long. "You okay?" he whispers.

”Better,” Quentin admits in a whisper. “It just… was really starting to get to me. Not talking to you.”

Eliot smiles and wiggles his fingers so that Quentin knows he can take his hand if he wants to. "Me too," he confesses. "I missed you a lot, I just... couldn't stop being an asshole."

Quentin takes the invitation, intertwining their fingers and squeezing. "You were being an asshole," he agrees. "But I think I can forgive you if you promise to do better."

"I promise," Eliot whispers, and then, just to prove it, to himself as well as Quentin: "I saw the picture, of your ultrasound. I couldn't work out which splodge was the baby, so you'll have to point it out to me."

Quentin laughs, but it's quiet. "I will," he promises. "Later, after we've gotten some sleep."

Eliot nods against the pillow, and lets himself relax for the first time in weeks. "Thanks, Q."

Quentin smiles, and his thumb strokes softly over the back of Eliot’s hand. “Go to sleep, El.”

* * *

They spend the next day hanging out in the apartment, mostly curled up on the couch and watching Disney movies. They take breaks for food and bathroom trips, but other than that, they’re never more than a few feet apart. After the past two weeks, it’s exactly what Quentin’s needed. He’s needed this easy, familiar contact and physical reassurance, just needed to know that his best friend is _here_ while his other best friend can’t be. 

Sunday night finds the two of them at the Tut, Quentin tagging along for the promise of beautiful, greasy burgers and salty fries to sate his suddenly-returned appetite, and Eliot to work the bar. Quentin claims a stool at one end, tucked into a corner between the wall and the bar, and settles in for the next few hours. “What do you recommend to drink?” he asks El, once his food order has been sent to the kitchen. 

Eliot laughs. "Quentin, until recently you were here at least two nights a week. You tell me."

"You're always making new drinks, though," Quentin protests with a grin. "How do I know you haven't come up with some new cocktail that's ready to be my new favorite?"

Eliot rolls his eyes. "So what if I have," he teases. "It's not like you could drink it."

"You'd be an awful bartender if you can't make a nonalcoholic version," Quentin argues, still grinning, as he seemingly flips a switch, turning his expression pleading. 

"Fine," Eliot says, rolling his eyes like he isn't already reaching for a glass. "I do have actual paying customers, you know." He gets to work, though, mixing one of those paying customers a tequila sunrise at the same time, and when he's finished the drink he pushes towards Quentin is bright blue, the glass rimmed in what looks like blue pop rocks. "Popper 29," he says, with a pointed glance at Quentin's stomach. "Virgin."

Quentin sticks his tongue out at Eliot as he scoops the glass up, lifting it to take a sip. He makes a pleased noise at the taste, and can't hide his smile as he crunches on the pop rocks. "This is really good," he says. "Even if it is a virgin drink for the not-so-virgin drinker."

Eliot laughs. "You're welcome," he says. "Now I have to go do some actual work, so I'll check on you in a little bit, okay?"

Quentin grins and waves a hand, his phone already on the table. "I'm sure I'll find some way of entertaining myself."

He finds that way in working, naturally, perusing texts to assign for end-of-semester reading and also looking for ideas on what kind of format would be best for his final exam. He's briefly distracted by the arrival of his food, carried out by none other than Eliot himself. His moan when he takes that first bite of the burger, still hot, with melty cheese and a soft bun and just a hint of sweetness from the tomato to contrast with the savory crunch of the bacon, is damn near pornographic, but he doesn't give a shit. " _Christ,_ this is good," he mumbles, already going in for his second bite. "And also why I don't eat here too often; I'd be the size of a fucking whale."

"Well, you're eating for two now," Eliot says, something warm and molten in his gaze. "You have the perfect excuse."

"Don't tempt me," Quentin warns with a laugh. "You'll lose this barstool for good, I'll never leave."

"I wouldn't even complain, except that I'm not sure we could excuse the loss of revenue," Eliot laughs. "I'll give you and your burger soulmate a minute alone, and then I'll come hang out with you. It's quiet tonight."

"How much do you think I eat?" Quentin demands, laughing. "Go, be a hotshot bartender, before I waste one of these perfectly good fries by throwing it at your face."

Eliot blows him a kiss and does exactly that, serving the next few people before the rush eases again. He takes a minute to wipe down the bar top and load some glasses out of the dishwasher, and then he meanders back over to Quentin, and steals one of his last fries for good measure. "Ready for a refill?" he asks, gesturing to Quentin's empty glass.

”Yes, please,” Quentin says, nudging the glass closer. “That was really good. I liked the pop rocks on the rim.”

"Right?" Eliot grins at him. "I had to make it a little gay."

Quentin laughs. "It's not worth drinking if it's not at least a little gay," he agrees. "What else have you got on the menu? Oh, actually, you know what? I'm in the mood for a Blue Thing."

"Feeling nostalgic, are we?" Eliot teases, summoning a clean glass with a twitch of his fingers.

"So what if I am?" Quentin says, grinning. "I'm allowed to be nostalgic sometimes."

"Of course you are," Eliot says. "I had some great orgasms in that Cottage."

Quentin rolls his eyes. "Of course that's the first thing you get nostalgic about," he says dryly. 

"What do you get nostalgic about?" Eliot asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Hanging out with my friends," Quentin says promptly. "The time we found some of the Cottage library books banging in Todd's room."

Eliot barks a laugh. "Oh God, I'd forgotten about that. I was so sure someone had _stolen_ them."

" _Alice_ was sure you were dragging me off to the library for sex," Quentin snickers. "Which, I can't even blame her for; you ran up, grabbed me by the arm, told me you needed me right the fuck now, and then dragged me off."

"Oh God," Eliot says again, more of a groan this time. "I'm lucky she didn't use her phosphoromancy to set me on fire."

Quentin laughs, reaching over to pat Eliot's hand. "She wouldn't have burned you _too_ badly," he says, but he doesn't sound terribly sure.

Eliot isn't convinced, either. "Alice is a scary woman," he says. "A weaker man would have paled in the face of her jealousy. I am, however, incredibly possessive, so it balanced out."

Quentin laughs. "'Incredibly possessive,' huh?"

Eliot shrugs carelessly. "What can I say? My friends are _my_ friends first, and anyone else's friends second."

"That... makes quite a bit of sense, actually," Quentin says thoughtfully. He grins. "Also explains why it took you forever to warm up to Jules."

Eliot doesn't look remotely apologetic as he slides Quentin’s drink across the bartop. "I don't think she liked me either," he says. "She kept looking at me like she thought I was going to smash an egg on your head. It was rude."

Quentin laughs. "She's just protective," he says. "It... wouldn't have been the first time I was set up by the popular kids, if you'd turned out to be an ass like the ones we grew up with."

Eliot's expression softens. "Well I know that _now_ ," he says. "I kind of knew that then. She wasn't exactly subtle about it. But." He scoffs. "I would _never_."

"Well, we didn't know that going into that first semester," Quentin points out. "All we knew was the two most popular people on campus latched onto me for some reason and pulled me into their group. That's how the other incidents started. Though Julia managed to save me from all but the very first one, so." Quentin reaches out, lays his hand over Eliot's and gives it a squeeze. "But I know you're different than them, and I'm glad you won Jules over. Eventually."

"Hm." Eliot sniffs. "She should be glad she won me over."

Quentin's amusement is clear in his tone as he says, "Oh, _really?_ "

Eliot nods seriously. "I said what I said."

Quentin shakes his head, fond exasperation coloring his expression. “You’re both ridiculous.”

* * *

”I _really_ want some fucking Thai food.”

Quentin’s words come out of nowhere, just like his abrupt craving, as he and Kady are walking back to the bus stop from Dr Larosh’s clinic. They’ve just left Quentin’s four-month check up after a clean bill of health from Dr Larosh and another ultrasound appointment for two weeks out. Quentin’s a little nervous about it; he might, if the baby cooperates and the technician can get a good look, find out the sex of his kid. It’s maybe freaking him out a little bit, driving the fact that he’s _pregnant_ , that he has a _kid_ growing inside of him, home far better than anything else has so far.

Kady snorts, and grins at him. "Sure, whatever you want," she says. "There's a place not far from you, right?"

"Yeah," Quentin says, already pulling out his phone and the text thread with Eliot. "It's basically right by the bus stop. I'm gonna see if El wants something while we're there."

"How have things been with you two?" Kady asks, curious.

"Better, since we talked," Quentin says, a smile curving his lips. "More like we used to be."

"That's great," Kady says, bumping him with her shoulder. "I was worried I was going to have to stick my foot up his ass."

Quentin laughs. "Yeah, it almost came to that," he admits. "But we talked, and I told him I needed my second best friend to actually act like he cared about me, since my first best friend is on the other side of the world. He's really stepped up. Still don't know what his hang-up was, but I guess he's over it now."

Kady just hums, rather than suggest Quentin actually ask him, for which he's grateful. "Are you going to ask him to go with you to the ultrasound?"

Quentin hesitates. "I don't know," he admits. "He was so weird about the first one until we talked, and this is... Actually having him _there,_ during..." He sighs. "I don't know."

"Well then maybe see what Alice is doing that day," Kady suggests. "Or Margo. You shouldn't go alone just because I have to work, not unless you want to."

"Ugh, so inconvenient," Quentin complains, but he's grinning. "I'll see what they're doing; it's a couple weeks out, anyway."

Kady nods easily enough, and gestures to Quentin's phone when it pings. "Are we on for Thai food?"

Quentin glances over Eliot’s enthusiastic response, and feels his smile soften. “Yeah, we are. Looks like we’ll get to the stop right before the bus does if we hurry.”

* * *

When Quentin gets home from campus two days later, the apartment is surprisingly quiet. It’s Eliot’s day off, and he hasn’t gone anywhere - his keys are still in the dish by the door - but there’s practically no sound in the apartment that Quentin doesn’t make. It’s worrying, and as soon as his own keys have landed in the bowl and he’s toed his shoes off, Quentin sets out to find Eliot. The apartment isn’t that large, so it’s the work of only a few minutes to find him in his room, the door ajar to reveal him sitting by the open window, a cigarette in his hand and a half-full ashtray on the sill next to him. “El?” Quentin calls, voice soft as he raps his knuckles against the doorframe. “What’s going on?”

"Nothing," Eliot says, and exhales his smoke in the vague direction of the open window. They're going to have to give this room at least two coats of paint before they move out; it's something they both accepted before they even moved in. "Just over here giving myself emphysema." He glances over to Quentin like he's only just realised he's there. "You probably shouldn't be in here, though, it's not good for the baby."

"Keep it aimed out the window, I'll sit on the bed," Quentin says. "What's wrong?"

Eliot looks down at his lap, shakes his head, and for a moment Quentin doesn't think he's going to tell him. But then: "It's my dad. He's dying."

Quentin sits on the bed with a _thump._ "Oh," he says, a bit dumbly. "Well."

Eliot nods, taps his ash out into the ashtray. "Yup. Heart failure. Which is actually hilarious, because I didn't think he even had a heart."

"Not enough of one for it to work properly," Quentin says without thinking, and then winces. "Sorry, that's... probably too soon? Who told you?"

"My brother called," Eliot says. "You'd think it'd be my mom, but... nope."

Quentin's expression softens, and he reaches out with his foot, sets it on the edge of Eliot's chair and rests his ankle against Eliot's hip. "I'm guessing if you've already worked through this many cigarettes that he wasn't just telling you about your dad," he says, quietly encouraging. 

Eliot shakes his head and takes another drag. To his credit, he remembers to actually blow the smoke out of the window this time. "I've been summoned," he says. "They want me to go back and visit him before he dies."

" _Fuck_ what they want," Quentin says, fierce and maybe a touch too loud before he settles, quiets. "What do _you_ want?"

Eliot sighs. "I don't know," he says. "I swore when I left that I'd never go back there. But if I don't, doesn't that mean he wins?"

Quentin's brow furrows. "How do you figure that?"

"Because then I'm a bitter, cantankerous bastard with an alcohol problem who can't let go of the past, just like he raised me to be."

Quentin considers that for a moment. "And what do you gain from going?"

"Closure?" Eliot taps his ash out again. "Alcohol poisoning? Who knows?"

Quentin sighs. "Well, it's your choice. But if you go, you aren't going alone. I'll come with you."

Eliot actually laughs at him. "Why the fuck would you want to do that?"

"Like I said, so you aren't going alone," Quentin says. "I don't know everything they did to you, but I know enough to know they're all a bunch of bastards, and I've got vacation time saved up."

Eliot shakes his head. "I don't want to put you in that position," he says, "and I don't want you to put yourself in it, either. If I decide to go, I'll just have to be a grown up and deal with whatever happens."

”Yeah, but it’s easier to be a grown up when you’ve got a friend with you, sometimes,” Quentin points out. “You don’t have to make a decision now, right? Give it a while, think about other things. You don't owe any of them shit, El.”

"I know," Eliot says. He manages a smile. "Thank you."

Quentin returns the smile before he takes a deep breath. "So, I was looking for a good time to ask you, but I guess this is as good as any. My next ultrasound is scheduled in two weeks, and Kady's working that day, they've got a big case they're putting together at the precinct. Do you... want to come with me?"

Eliot almost drops his cigarette. "You want me to go?" he asks.

"Yeah," Quentin says, giving Eliot a smile. "I don't really want to go by myself, but I can ask Alice or Margo if you're busy or don't want to go."

"No," Eliot says, "I'll go. As long as you're sure that's okay."

Quentin rolls his eyes. "I wouldn't be asking you if I wasn't sure I wanted you there."

Eliot pulls a face. "Then I'll go with you," he says. "Text me the date and I'll shift things around at work."

Quentin practically beams. "Thank you, El."

* * *

So Eliot goes with Quentin to his appointment. It's an exercise in... something? Self-control. Sanity maintenance. Restraint, definitely, when they get to the waiting room and everyone around them is either pregnant themselves or holding hands with a pregnant person, rubbing their belly and talking to them in soft, intimate murmurs. Everyone except Eliot. Squashed next to Quentin in the tiny chairs and surrounded by couples, it's all he can do not to show his hand right then and there.

Thankfully they don't have to wait too long before a doctor comes out and gives the room at large a hopeful smile. "Quentin Coldwater?"

"That's me," Quentin says, lifting a hand in a small wave before he pushes himself out of the too-narrow chair. 

The doctor's smile warms. "Hi, come on through. You can bring your friend, if you'd like."

Eliot is already halfway to his feet, and he freezes. It hadn't occurred to him that Quentin might not want him to come in. "Uhh. I can wait, if you want?"

Quentin snorts, reaching back without looking to grab Eliot's wrist and pull him to his feet. "No, come on, I wouldn't have asked you to come if I didn't want you back there."

The doctor doesn't comment on their performance, just shows them into the room and closes the door. She indicates a lone chair for Eliot to take, and then gestures to Quentin. "I’m Dr Clark, I’ll be doing your ultrasound today, Quentin. You get yourself nice and comfy on the bed, and then push your shirt up and your waistband down for me, okay?"

Quentin does as told, settling himself onto the bed and adjusting his clothes. "So, I know Dr Larosh said it's a little early, but we might be able to tell the sex this time?"

"Yes," Dr Clark says, while she washes her hands. "If baby is cooperating, we should be able to get a good look. If not, we can always try again next time." She dries her hands on some paper towels and grabs some things from the little table next to the bed. "I'm going to put some jelly on your stomach, it'll be a little cold."

Quentin makes a face. "It's always cold," he says, hissing in a breath as she smears jelly across his lower stomach. 

"Sorry," Dr Clark laughs. She gets the wand out and takes a moment to untangle the wire. "How have you been feeling lately? Everything going well?"

"Pretty good," Quentin says, taking a deep breath and trying to let himself relax; it's always uncomfortable having the ultrasound wand pressing into his stomach, but it's worse if he tenses up. "Had some cravings hit out of the blue, but nothing too crazy yet."

"That's good. You've got a nice little bump here, it looks like baby's growing well." She wiggles the wand a little bit, and a rhythmic rushing sound fills the room.

"What's that?" Eliot asks, curious, and Dr Clark throws him a smile over her shoulder.

"That's baby's heartbeat," she says. "And if you both look at the screen... There's your baby, Quentin."

Quentin's breath catches in his chest, his jaw dropping, mouth forming a silent 'o.' "There they are," he says, and even though the image is shifting, he can still just barely make out the shape of his kid on the screen. "That's - Holy shit."

Eliot doesn't even think about it, just reaches out blindly for Quentin's hand and gives it a squeeze. "Q," he breathes. "There's a person inside you."

"There sure is," Dr Clark says, grinning. She moves the wand around a bit, trying to get a good angle. "Everything looks pretty great from here. Baby looks nice and healthy - and I can tell you the sex?"

Quentin sucks in a sharp breath, his grip tightening on Eliot's hand even as his gaze never leaves the screen. "Yes," he says, nodding. "Yeah, I'd like to know."

Dr Clark beams. "You're having a little boy."

Quentin's eyes widen. "A boy?" he repeats, through the smile already spreading across his face. 

"Yep," Dr Clark chuckles. "And he's not shy about it."

Eliot laughs. "Your kid is an exhibitionist."

Quentin snorts, squeezing Eliot's hand again. "Can we get a printout of this?" he asks. "I want to show it to our friends and my dad."

"Of course," Dr Clark says. "I'll even give you two."

* * *

The appointment wraps up quickly after that. Dr Clark does indeed print off two copies of the ultrasound, and Quentin takes the envelope they're in as if it's made of gold. The check-out process is quick and easy, as it always is, and soon enough Quentin and Eliot are out on the streets again, this time heading for Ted Coldwater's house. They'd promised to stop by after the midmorning appointment for an early lunch, and Quentin's looking forward to giving him the news. 

They chat idly as they walk, and then as the bus carries them across the city. From that stop, it's only a short walk to Ted's house, the house that Quentin grew up in. Quentin rings the doorbell, and when the door opens, he grins at his dad. "Hi, Dad."

Ted is all smiles. "Hey, Curly Q," he says, pulling Quentin into a hug. "It's good to see you, Eliot. Come on in, how was the hospital?"

"Same as always," Quentin says, toeing his shoes off in the front hall. "Brought you something."

"What is it?" Ted asks.

Quentin holds up the envelope, a grin on his face. "Ultrasound pics."

Ted just lights up. "Great," he says, "come sit down and show me them."

Quentin chuckles, doing as he's told. He waits until Eliot has also found a seat before he opens the envelope, taking out one of the pictures to pass over to his father. "So, we got lucky, and the baby actually cooperated so we could find out the sex."

Ted is cradling the picture in his hands as if it's the actual baby, something soft and awed on his face. "Really?" he asks.

"Really," Quentin confirms with a smile. "Dr Clark said it's a boy."

" _Oh,_ " Ted breathes. He ducks his head to grin down at the picture, and Eliot looks away when he notices that Ted's lashes are wet. "I never thought I'd-- I mean, obviously, it's always been your choice, I just mean-- But now I'm having a _grandson_." He looks up abruptly. "Unless they decide that's not right, of course."

Quentin smiles, getting up so he can hug his father. "Yeah, he might decide something else fits better," he agrees. "And I'll make sure he knows that's fine, but I think we'll be safe with 'he' for now."

Ted squeezes Quentin tight, and Eliot has to look away again, a lump in his throat. "I'm so happy," he whispers. "Can I keep the picture?"

"Yeah, we got two copies," Quentin says. "Might need to make a photocopy of one of these for Mom, if she wants a copy of her own."

Ted pulls back to hold his son at arms' length, concern in his gaze. "Have you spoken to your mom much?" he asks.

Quentin shakes his head. "Not really. She doesn't... really get why I'm going through with this, how I can be comfortable doing this if I'm so adamant that I'm a guy." He shrugs, his smile turning rueful. "Same old, 'she doesn't really get it because she doesn't live it,' things."

Ted shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Q," he says. "I wish I could get through to her. But this is her grandkid. She might come around."

"Maybe," Quentin sighs. "But in the meantime, I've got you guys." He glances at Eliot, gives him a smile. 

Eliot smiles back. "Yeah, you do."

The three of them leave that conversation behind as they get lunch ready. It's nothing fancy, pasta, salad, and grilled chicken, but it keeps them busy and the conversation light. They talk about work through the meal, trading anecdotes from Brakebills and the Tut for stories of Ted's own teaching days. As Quentin is finishing his plate, Ted asks, "So, do you boys have any plans for the summer?"

"Um, not really," Eliot says, glancing at Quentin. "Everyone's going to be pretty busy, I think, except for us. I might be taking a road trip?"

" _We_ might be taking a road trip," Quentin corrects, giving Eliot a mildly reproachful look. "I told you, you're not going there alone if I'm in any condition to travel."

Ted's eyebrows climb. "What's all this about?"

Eliot sighs. "My dad is dying," he says. "And the rest of my family want me to go back to Indiana to say goodbye."

Ted's brow furrows. "After the way they treated you, they honestly expect you to go back there?"

Eliot shrugs. "I guess. It's the _proper_ thing to do, right? Let bygones be bygones, forgive and forget." He waves a vague hand. "Listen as well as you hear. All of that."

"Forgive my language, but that's a bunch of bullshit," Ted says bluntly. "That's for things like your brother coloring on your bedroom door, or your grandmother getting you the wrong toy for Christmas. That’s not for things that make your kid run from a place that never felt like home the first chance he gets.”

Eliot smiles. "Fair," he says. "But I don't know. Maybe I should try to be the bigger person. Or spit in his face. I haven't decided yet." He glances at Quentin. "I'm kidding."

Quentin snorts. "Spitting in his face would be _kind_ ," he says darkly, spearing the last piece of chicken on his plate a little more viciously than is strictly called for. 

Ted shakes his head, a small, fond smile on his face as he looks from his son back to Eliot. "It's your choice, obviously. But I agree with Q, if you do decide to go back, you shouldn't go alone."

Eliot softens a little. "All right," he says. "If I go, I'll think about it."

Ted nods, and that's the end of it. 

Eliot and Quentin don't stay long after lunch; once they're finished, Quentin excuses himself to the bathroom while Ted enlists Eliot's help in washing their dishes. The two of them work in companionable silence for a moment before Ted breaks it. "How is he?" he asks, drying the plate that Eliot hands him. "He keeps telling me he's fine, but... Well, you and I both know what Q's like."

Eliot concedes that point with a nod. "He's okay," he says. "It's new and weird, and his body's doing things he never thought it would, but he really wants this baby." He smiles. "He's happy, I think."

"Good," Ted sighs, smiling. "I was worried about him, when he told me he was pregnant - and that he was keeping it, without telling the father." He eyes Eliot for a moment before he asks, as blunt as a sledgehammer to the face, "Is it you?"

Eliot almost bites through his tongue before he says something stupid, like _I wish._ "Uh, no," he says, hating everything. "Quentin and I have never... It's not like that between us."

Ted snorts. "I'm not blind, son," he says, not unkindly. "If it _were_ like that between you two, I'd approve. I know Q cares for you, and I know you're good for and to each other."

Eliot hates himself. A lot. But he may as well be honest about this with _one_ Coldwater. He can trust Ted. "He's incredibly important to me," he says. "Too important for me to risk our friendship. Especially now. So no, it's really not like that between us."

Ted hums thoughtfully, but seems to accept Eliot's explanation. "And if _he_ ever decides to take that risk?"

Eliot huffs a soft laugh. "I think you know my answer to that."

Ted chuckles. "You remind me of me when I was younger," he says, rueful. "Always playing word games with my emotions. Just be careful you don't end up hurting yourself by passing up the chance to be happy."

Eliot rolls his eyes, his expression fond. "He makes me happy just like this," he says. "But I'll keep it in mind."

Ted swats him lightly on the arm with the dish rag. "Don't be cute with me, son," he laughs. "You can almost always be happier - and I _know_ you and my boy could be. Don't get so caught up telling yourself you're okay with how things are that you talk yourself into letting that bigger happiness go."

Eliot doesn't really know what to say to that, and Quentin comes back from the bathroom a moment later, saving him from having to work it out.

* * *

The next couple of weeks go by without event. Their friends make all the right noises about the ultrasound picture, and Quentin calls his mom to tell her she's going to have a grandson, but she doesn't ask to see it so his copy ends up tacked to the fridge next to the first one. It's become a habit for Eliot to stand in the kitchen whenever he gets home from work, just looking at them and resolutely not sorting through the things they make him feel.

It's a Saturday today, a couple of days after Quentin had another check-up that Kady took him to. Everything was fine, of course. Eliot has to go into work later, but he's still up and out fairly early running errands. It's late enough in the day that he doesn't really expect Quentin to be home when he gets back, but he lets himself into the apartment to find him on the couch, barely visible beneath the mountain of blankets he's wrapped himself up in.

Eliot waits for him to say something while he slides his keys into the dish they keep near the door, but when he doesn't even look up, he sighs and approaches the sofa with caution. "Hey, Q," he says. "Is everything okay?"

Quentin's expression is caught somewhere between a pout and a scowl. "Yeah," he snarks, "I'm just under every blanket in the apartment for no reason, just felt like nearly smothering myself."

 _Wow._ Eliot's eyebrows shoot up, and he raises his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. "Okay," he says. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Quentin remains stubbornly silent for a moment before he sighs. "My favorite shirt doesn't fit," he mutters, his slump visible even under the blankets. "Over my stomach. I... hadn't realized it had gotten that big. And I'm officially going off of T, we're dialing back my dose now. And then my brain just got stuck."

"Okay," Eliot says again, and comes to crouch down in front of the couch so that he's closer to Quentin's eye level. "Can you tell me where it got stuck?"

Quentin considers that for a moment, frowning. "What if... After the baby's born... What if I never go back on T? What if this - I don't know, flips some switch? Makes me a woman, not a guy?" There's a movement like he shrugs, and his gaze lifts, meets Eliot's briefly before sliding away. "I don't. _Logically,_ I know that's not gonna happen. But - _what if?_ And seeing my belly, how much bigger it is now, how I'm obviously a guy with an occupied uterus, it's just like, like when you drive an old stick shift and the clutch sticks, or you miss the shift and grind the gears."

"Q," Eliot says softly. "I don't think that's how it works. You're more visibly pregnant now, sure, but it doesn't make you look feminine. You're still very much a man from where I'm standing. Does it make you feel feminine? Not, like, 'this is something a female body does' - does it make you feel like a woman?"

Quentin's frown deepens, expression clearly thoughtful. "No?" he hazards. "But I don't know what 'feeling like a woman' feels like, really."

"Me neither," Eliot says, "because I'm not one. Do you know what feeling like a guy feels like?"

"Yeah, obviously - " Quentin cuts himself off, blinking. Then he snorts, expression reluctantly amused as he smiles at Eliot. "I see what you're doing, here."

"Good," Eliot says, with a soft smile. "That means it's working." He wiggles his hand in between all of Quentin's blankets until he finds his fingers and gives them a squeeze. "If you wake up one day, tomorrow or in a few months or years from now, and decide you feel like a woman, that's absolutely fine, Q. But I don't think you will. You've fought too hard for this; you know exactly who you are. Carrying this baby doesn't change that."

Quentin sighs, his grip tightening around Eliot’s hand. “Thank you,” he says, gaze dropping to his lap. “I - I know all of that, logically. But sometimes my brain doesn’t really care about logic. Ironically.”

"Hey," Eliot says, ducking to catch Quentin's eye, "I know. It's okay. That's what I'm here for, isn't it?"

Quentin's lips quirk in a small smile. "Yeah," he agrees. "That and the excellent cuddles and kitchen skills."

"Oh, I can't forget that," Eliot says, grinning back. He sobers pretty quickly, though, and squeezes Quentin's hand. "Thank you for telling me."

Quentin sighs, and his smile this time is small, a bit shy. "Thank you for listening," he says. 

"Anytime," Eliot murmurs. He tilts his head, considering the blanket pile before him. "You think there's any room for me under there?"

Quentin laughs, shifting aside the top couple of blankets. "I think we can make room."

"Great." Eliot wriggles his way into the blankets and curls himself around Quentin as best he can, trying not to jostle him too much or fall off the couch in the process. "Hey," he breathes when he's finally settled, face-to-face with Quentin and warmer than he's been in a while. "Hey, you okay?"

Quentin hums an affirmative. "Better than I was when you got home," he adds after a moment, settling himself on the couch more comfortably and attempting to leave just a little more room for Eliot. 

It has the opposite effect, though, and Eliot rocks precariously backwards on the edge of the sofa, in danger of toppling off. He laughs and reaches out to steady himself, scooting a little closer in the process, and it isn't until he's settled once more that he realises his hand is resting on Quentin's bump.

Quentin's eyes go wide, and something a little desperate flashes across his expression as he makes a noise like Eliot just punched the breath from his lungs. Before Eliot can move, however - apologize or pull away or _something_ \- Quentin's hand is on his. He holds Eliot's hand against his stomach, biting his lip before he says, so quietly Eliot wouldn't hear if they weren't as close as they are, "I don't mind if you touch it, El."

Eliot's breath catches in his throat, and his thumb moves gently against Quentin's stomach almost like he can't help himself. "Are you sure?" he asks. "I don't want to make you feel weird."

Eliot's concern seems to reassure Quentin, because he relaxes further under Eliot's touch, and a soft smile curves his lips. "I'm sure," he murmurs. "It was just - unexpected. And it's the first time you've touched my stomach."

"I know," Eliot says, like it's an admission of guilt. His thumb strokes Quentin's bump again. "This is really kind of amazing, Q."

"It is, isn't it?" Quentin chuckles, shifting so that his arm can lay over Eliot's waist. "Weird, definitely. But... Yeah, also kind of amazing."

Eliot grins and settles his arm more comfortably around Quentin's waist. " _You're_ amazing," he says.

Quentin flushes, not entirely from the heat of their little cocoon, but smiles. Privately, Eliot thinks he's never looked more lovely. 

* * *

Things are a bit hectic for the next week on Quentin's end; it's finals week, and he has exams to administer every day. He's done this before, though, so he has a rhythm. Quentin tweaks a few things from last semester, and the week goes by more smoothly than he'd hoped, until eventually, Friday evening rolls around, and Quentin makes his way to the Manhattan Tut to celebrate the successful end of another semester with good food, virgin drinks, and great company. 

Quentin has another brain break, a lack of stimulus combined with the fact that he had to transfigure even _more_ of his shirts to fit him now, and this time he and Eliot end up in Quentin's bed. They stay tucked up and curled together under the covers, Quentin's laptop open to Netflix and _Nailed It!_ playing. It's a good distraction, heckling the contestants, but Quentin's favorite part is when Eliot's hand finds his baby bump again, and just... settles there, thumb stroking softly over the swell of it. He throttles back the guilty little voice that says Eliot wouldn't be touching him at all if he knew the secret Quentin was keeping from him, and ignores the hopeful one that says maybe he'd touch Quentin _more_ if he knew. 

Three days later, Quentin gets back from an impromptu grocery run for chips, icing, cake mix, and ingredients to find Eliot sitting on the couch, his phone in his hands. He's frowning intently at the wall, and Quentin puts the groceries away before he approaches. He eases himself down onto the couch next to Eliot, reaching out to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. "El? Everything alright?"

Eliot, who hasn't moved a bit since Quentin came in, starts suddenly and looks up. "Oh," he says, his voice flat. "Hey, Q."

"Hey, El," Quentin replies, concern clear in his tone. "What's going on?"

"Um." Eliot takes a deep breath, and then releases it all at once. "My dad died."

Quentin blinks. "Oh," he says, quiet, as his hand tightens on Eliot's shoulder, a comforting squeeze. "Okay. Do you know what you need right now?"

"Uhh," Eliot says, "no? No, I... have no idea what I need right now."

Quentin gives him a soft smile. "Well, how about you come help me bake this ridiculously chocolatey cake I just got all the fixings for?" he suggests. "First real crazy craving I've gotten, figured I'd indulge."

Eliot looks up, frowning. "Were you planning on making an unsupervised mess in my kitchen?"

Quentin gives him an innocent look. "Would I do that?"

Eliot sighs. "You absolutely would, you asshole," he says, and gets to his feet. "Come on. I'll let _you_ help _me_ make the cake."

Quentin beams like that wasn't his goal all along. "Perfect."

Eliot manages to keep Quentin in check while they weigh out the ingredients, and graciously puts him in charge of mixing everything together while he cleans up and lines a couple of baking tins with brown paper. He takes over briefly to check the consistency and then lets Quentin distribute the mixture between the tins and put them in the oven. It's not unlike baking with a child, Eliot supposes, but Quentin seems happy to let him take control and at least this way their kitchen doesn't end up looking like a bomb site.

Quentin sets a timer on his phone while Eliot washes up the rest of their dishes, and then they have about twenty minutes until they need to check on the cakes. About five minutes in, Eliot takes a breath, and glances at Quentin out of the corner of his eye. "I think I want to go to the funeral," he says.

Quentin stills, and then turns to face Eliot more fully. "Okay," he says, not judging and doing his best to keep his expression and posture open. "Talk me through that?"

Eliot shrugs. "It just feels like something I need to do," he says. "Maybe just to spit on his grave, I don't know. But I think maybe I'll get closure, somehow."

Quentin nods slowly. "Okay, that's understandable. Do you know when the funeral is?"

"Next Thursday," Eliot says. "He's been dead for a few days. Darren only just thought to call me."

"Ass," Quentin says, immediately and with feeling. "So we'll need to be there by, what, at least Wednesday?"

"If you still want to come," Eliot says. He glances down pointedly to the sizeable bump beneath Quentin's shirt. "If you think it's too late in the game to travel, it's okay."

Quentin follows Eliot's gaze, frowning thoughtfully. "I'll check with Dr Larosh," he settles on. "Just to be sure. But, y'know. We're magicians, we have options for traveling, even across half the country." He looks up, gives Eliot a grin. "Don't think I haven't forgotten about the portal to yours and Margo's favorite bar in England."

Eliot inclines his head. "Point," he says. "Then, yeah, Wednesday. I don't really want to spend any more time there than necessary. We could probably get a B&B or something?"

"That would probably be best," Quentin muses, settling against the counter. "I can start looking at that, find us a good deal for... One or two nights? Do we want to leave on Thursday right after the wake?"

Eliot sighs. "I honestly don't know," he says. "I can't see me wanting to stick around after, especially not to, like, visit with anyone the next day? But I guess I might just want to pass out. Or drink myself into oblivion."

"Let's do two nights, then," Quentin suggests. "Even if we go right back after the wake and I make sure you don't kill your liver before we leave in the morning."

Eliot nods. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

So, Quentin finds them a room in a local bed and breakfast place, less than half an hour's drive from the funeral home, while Eliot takes care of arrangements at the Tut. They work out the spell they'll need - with a few modifications provided by Dr Larosh - to ensure that they can portal to Indiana, saving them a small fortune in airline fees. And they spend an awful lot of time curled up on the couch, distracting Eliot from the upcoming funeral and the prospect of seeing his blood family for the first time in almost a decade with lots and _lots_ of Netflix.

Tuesday evening finds Quentin packing his small suitcase after Eliot leaves for work, Kady ostensibly helping, but in reality shooting the shit with Julia, on a video call on Quentin's laptop settled on his desk, while Quentin discards various shirts and tries to put together a decent outfit for a funeral. "Do you think," he muses, eyeing the jacket in his hands, "I could get away with going to the funeral dressed like the fussy old English professor that I am at heart?"

"Man, you're not going there to impress anyone, you're going there to stick it to a bunch of bigoted hicks," Kady sneers. "Wear whatever the fuck you want."

Julia coughs politely. "I know you own a nicer jacket than that, Q," she says. "And _you_ know that Eliot is going to look amazing on Thursday. What better way to stick it to these people than by presenting a united front?"

Quentin considers that for a moment. "I kind of want to rub the fact that Eliot's doing just fine without them in their faces," he admits, putting the jacket in his hands down and going for the jacket that Julia mentioned instead. "So, united front it is."

"You know what?" Kady muses, eyeing Quentin thoughtfully. "Yeah, okay. You'll look hot in that." She cuts a glance to the screen. "Maybe it won't just be Eliot's family you'll be impressing."

Quentin rolls his eyes. "I'm more likely to piss Eliot's family off than impress them," he points out, digging through his drawers for the rest of the outfit. "Fuck, I'm gonna have to transfigure all of this, there's no _way_ these pants are gonna fit my hips now."

"I'll do it," Kady says, reaching out. "Gimme."

While Kady gets started on Quentin's jacket, Julia switches her focus. "How are things with Eliot lately?" she asks.

"Good," Quentin says, lips curving into a smile without his permission. "A little hectic during finals week, but they settled out until this happened."

"It sounds like he's being very supportive," Julia offers. "This baby seems to have brought you guys even closer."

Kady shoots her a warning look. "Jules."

"We were already pretty damn close," Quentin points out. "Like, Margo gave me the shovel talk years ago, close. And that was just about being Eliot's _friend._ "

"But things have changed now, right?" Julia presses.

" _Jules,_ " Quentin sighs. "No."

Julia's sigh crackles over the laptop's speakers. "I'm just saying," she says. "You're going to hold his hand at his father's funeral, and he takes you to doctor's appointments--"

" _One_ doctor's appointment," Kady growls.

"--and you obviously care about each other so much. Do you really think it'd change anything if you told him?"

"It's a moot point, because _I'm not telling him,_ " Quentin says, terse. "Look, Jules, even _if_ he feels the same about me, he doesn't want to be a father. That's just... It's not a set of responsibilities he wants, for good reason, considering what his own father was like."

"Do you not think he deserves to make that decision for himself?"

Quentin sighs. "I made _my_ decision, Jules," he says, glancing over his shoulder at the screen. 

"But--"

"Julia, enough," Kady snaps. "His uterus, his call, okay? He's the one carrying the fucking kid, he doesn't owe Eliot anything."

"Look, this isn't the best situation," Quentin concedes. "And I get where you're coming from, Jules, I do. But Eliot's my best friend after you, I've lived with him for years. I know him as well as I know you, and I care about him just as much." 

"And if we somehow made a baby, Q, I would love you and that baby independently of how I felt about you romantically," Julia says. "If you don't think Eliot would do the same, maybe he's not as good a friend as you think he is."

"It has nothing to do with how good of a friend he is," Quentin sighs. He moves to the bed, adjusting the suitcase so he can sit down. "It's - How things are, now, I'm _content._ I could be happier, yeah, sure. But to do that, I'd have to get my hopes up. I'd have to take that leap, and if - if he _doesn't_ love me, if he's not in love with me, and he turns me down... It would be worse, honestly, because he'd be _nice_ about it." He rubs the back of his neck, confesses, "It'd all but destroy me, Jules. And I'd lose him anyway, because I couldn't handle that disparity."

Julia sucks in a sharp breath, but before she can say anything, Kady's hands land heavily on Quentin's shoulders. "All right," she says, "it's been good talking to you, Jules, but I really want some ice cream, so we're gonna have to go."

"Q," Julia says, "I don't want you to be unhappy."

"Bye, Julia!" Kady reaches over Quentin to close the laptop, cutting off the call, and sighs. "Jesus."

Quentin shakes his head. "She means well," he mutters, but his hand shakes when he lifts it to run his fingers through his hair. "But yeah, _Jesus._ "

Kady squeezes Quentin's shoulders. "Come on," she says. "I wasn't kidding about that ice cream. Packing can wait."

Quentin eyes his suitcase and then nods decisively. "Yeah, okay," he says. "Ice cream sounds good."

* * *

They get into Eliot's hometown later than they wanted to, largely because Eliot very nearly backs out of going. It's probably a good thing, though, because the magic required for the portal kind of takes it out of him, and by the time they get to their B&B all he wants to do is pass out. He fusses over Quentin a little bit first, makes sure he's comfortable in the bed and insists that he's fine sleeping on the floor, he doesn't want to keep Quentin up tossing and turning when he finds that he can't actually sleep. The travelling has tired Quentin out, too, so he doesn't even complain much.

They have a nightcap and go to bed. Neither of them get much sleep.

They consider going to the house ahead of the funeral, but Eliot decides against it. He'd rather go to the funeral under his own steam in their rented car (small towns are the _worst_ gossips, otherwise they'd portal to the church and back), and then deal with his family afterwards at the wake. They get ready practically in silence, only speaking when one of them is in the other's way or when Quentin asks Eliot to help him with his tie. Quentin knows how to knot a tie, they both know this, but Eliot is grateful to be given something useful to do, some way to help Quentin when Quentin is already helping him so much just by being here.

When they're both ready Eliot gives them a final once-over. Eliot doesn't feel quite up to his usual standards, though he knows that's mostly the anxiety talking. Quentin looks great, however, very sharp in a black blazer that Eliot doesn't think he's seen before. He's also very obviously, very heavily pregnant. Neither of them have discussed how this might be received by Eliot's family, or how to deal with it if anyone brings it up, and they don't mention it now. Eliot just hopes Quentin knows that he'll punch someone before he lets them make him the target of their vitriol.

The funeral itself is pretty boring. Eliot doesn't step up to greet his mother or anyone else, and lingers with Quentin near the back of the modest crowd as they all file into the church. He doesn't try to sit in the front pew with the rest of his brothers, and they don't seem to have left space for him anyway. Fine. The reverend up front talks a lot about God and Heaven and the circle of life, all the usual stuff, and then turns to the topic of Eliot's father specifically, tells the room at large that he was a good Christian, a good man, and that he will be sorely missed by all who knew him.

Quentin finds Eliot's hand at that part and squeezes it tight. Eliot squeezes back, and though his eyes burn a little, he doesn't cry. He can't cry, not here where Reverend Peters or Aunt Bess or God himself might see and mistakenly think that Eliot is in any way mourning this man. He isn't. He's mourning the childhood he lost, the little boy who grew up knowing that his father would never love him.

At the end they all stand up to sing the final hymn and watch his brothers bear their father out of the church. Eliot makes himself look at the coffin as it passes their pew, but he looks away when his mother reaches them. He doesn't have that option when they leave the church, though. His mother and oldest brother Darren are standing just outside the doors, thanking everyone for coming as they meander out towards the cemetery. Quentin actually leaves a little ahead of him, and comes up against his mother first. Eliot is only a second behind him, but it's enough to give Mariah Waugh pause.

"Thank you so much for coming," she's saying, squinting up at Quentin as she shakes his hand. "I'm sorry, do I know--" The vague smile on her face vanishes. "Eliot."

Eliot offers her a tight smile. "Mother."

"So you did come after all," Darren says, unimpressed. "What, you sneak into the back after everyone else got here?"

Quentin shifts closer to Eliot, eyeing the two Waughs in front of him with thinly-veiled distaste. "We didn't want to make a scene," he says, sweeter than sugar. "I'm Quentin Coldwater, Eliot's roommate."

Mariah raises an eyebrow, in a way that's eerily similar to Eliot. "Roommate," she repeats. "Well. Are you coming to the wake?"

Eliot sighs. "Yes," he says. He glances at Darren. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

Darren shrugs, like he doesn't particularly care one way or the other. "Be nice to see you act like you at least remember you _have_ a family."

Eliot gives him a tight smile. "Oh," he says, "I remember. We'll see you there."

"You're not staying for the burial?" Mariah asks.

"No," Eliot says, "I need a smoke."

Darren sneers and opens his mouth to say something, but Quentin puts a hand on Eliot's arm and gives them both a vague smile. "It was good to meet you two; my condolences for your loss."

Eliot lets Quentin lead him to the edge of the crowd, and once they're on a little grass verge beside the church, he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. His hands are shaking. "You mind?"

Quentin shakes his head. "No, you clearly need it," he murmurs, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that no one can see as he twirls his fingers, conjures a small flame. "I know you don't carry a lighter on you; here."

"Thanks," Eliot says, dipping to touch his cigarette to the flame. He straightens up and moans as he releases his first drag. "Remind me why we're going to the wake again?"

Quentin shifts his hand, twitches his fingers into a tut that conjures a small, consistent breeze to keep the smoke from Eliot's cigarette away from him. "Because this is going to give you some kind of closure, and give everyone one last chance to apologize for being dicks to you before you tell them all to fuck off for good," he says lightly. "Also, I might want a chance to hex Darren. I'm thinking ED whenever he tries to have sex or jerk off, and maybe something to smell like pork whenever his heartrate rises."

Eliot snorts. "Oh my god," he says. "Please do that."

Quentin grins, fierce and pleased. "If he says anything else, I will," he promises. "And Kady taught me a general bad luck hex. Only lasts about a week, but it doesn't cause any major harm. Mostly just really damn inconveniencing; might be perfect for anyone else."

"You've really thought this out," Eliot realises, laughing. "I'm impressed."

Quentin blows out a breath, reaches up to rub at the back of his neck and give Eliot a sheepish look. "There... may have been a couple of drunken nights at the Cottage where Margo and I planned out what we wanted to do to your family, if we ever got the chance," he admits. "Most of it was aimed at your dad."

"Really," Eliot says, eyebrows raised. "Talking about me behind my back? I expected more from you."

Quentin laughs, shaking his head and shifting so that his arm's pressed up against Eliot's. "We only did it because we care about you," he says reassuringly. "And we were bored."

"Oh," Eliot chuckles, "well if you were bored, that makes all the difference."

Quentin chuckles as well, settling more firmly against Eliot as he finishes his cigarette. Scott Waugh is buried in the cemetery attached to his family’s church, and Quentin and Eliot watch from a great distance as the short burial service is conducted. They don’t say anything else, just wait until the gathered crowd breaks up, disperses to their cars to reconvene at the old farmhouse. The Waughs still live and work the same farm that they had when Eliot was growing up, and Quentin quietly resolves to stick to Eliot’s side like glue as Eliot smokes the last of his cigarette, vanishing the butt with a quick, neat popper.

They make their way to their rented car in silence, and the drive is just as quiet. When they arrive, there’s almost a dozen cars parked along the long gravel driveway already, and Quentin takes a deep breath. “Ready?” he asks, glancing at Eliot. “Looks like pretty much everyone from the service is here.”

"Yay," Eliot says. He takes a breath. "All right. Let's go."

Quentin gives Eliot his best reassuring smile before they open their doors. Eliot took care to park where they can get out easily, and something in Quentin aches at that realization as they walk to the open front door. They barely make it inside before Darren, standing in the living room right by the front entryway, opens his mouth. "So, you did come; not gonna lie, I expected you to bolt, Eliot."

"Always a pleasure to see you, Darren," Eliot says, ever polite. "Did you miss me?"

"Like an ingrown toenail," Darren snorts, and Quentin resolves to find a moment to ready the hex he mentioned earlier. "You miss it for a few days then realize you're better off."

"I imagine El could say the same about you," Quentin cuts in, giving Darren a grin that has a few too many teeth. "Excuse us." He grabs Eliot's wrist and pulls him further into the house, away from Darren. "Christ," he mutters when they find a quiet hall. "They all as bad as him?"

"We're about to find out," Eliot says with a sigh. "Here comes Mommy."

Mariah Waugh is a small, slight woman, who might have been beautiful once. Now, her hands and face are aged beyond her years, weathered by more than a lifetime of work on the farm. Eliot clearly didn't get his height from her, but Quentin suspects he inherited his preference for alcohol from both of his parents.

"So the prodigal son returns," she announces, loud enough that most of the people in the room turn to look at them. "Except it's too late, isn't it, Eliot? Your father is dead."

"Then I arrived right on time," Eliot says coolly. "I didn't really want to see him alive."

Mariah sneers. "How dare you? You abandoned this family, and now you waltz back in here now, dressed like--"

"Like what, Mother?" Eliot demands.

"Like a _fag_."

A murmur ripples through the room, but nobody is shocked - the ones who speak to their neighbors seem _approving,_ and Quentin sees red. " _Excuse_ you?" he snaps, stepping forward, just slightly in front of Eliot. "Eliot's dressed better than every other person in this godforsaken house, and _you're_ supposed to be the God-fearing, honorable people who were closest to the bastard you just put in the ground. _This_ is how you treat him, when he came here in good faith?"

"Q," Eliot says, his hand on Quentin's arm. "It's okay."

"After how he's treated us?" Mariah demands, ignoring Eliot entirely. "Showing up for the first time in ten years, _late_ to his own father's funeral? Yes, absolutely. We did our best to correct him when he was younger, but he's always been a fucking deviant."

"Better a deviant than a bigoted asshole," Quentin spits, shaking off Eliot's hand. "I don't know everything about how you people treated him, but I know enough to want to punch every single one of you in the face for it, and you deserve _far_ worse."

Eliot's hand finds Quentin again. "Q, you need to calm down," he murmurs. "Think of the baby."

"Yes, dear, think of the _baby_ ," Mariah agrees, her gaze pointedly dropping to Quentin's stomach before she looks to Eliot. "Of course you couldn't be satisfied coming to lord it over us all alone. You had to bring a fellow freak of nature with you."

It's Eliot's turn to see red. "Shut your mouth," he snaps. "Say what you want about me, but you leave him the fuck out of it."

"How dare you speak to your mother that way?" a woman's voice demands, and then Eliot's Aunt Bess is breaking away from the crowd. She's older than his father was, but no less fierce, although she never actually raised a hand to Eliot as far as he can remember. "In her own home, on the day she buried her husband? We always knew you'd be nothing but a disappointment, an embarrassment. You're a disgrace."

Eliot laughs, cold and unforgiving. "What does that make you, Aunt Bess?" he asks. "Or any of you? You all stood aside while my mom drank herself into oblivion, which looks like it hasn't changed at all, and while my dad regularly beat the living shit out of me."

"You required correction," Aunt Bess says tersely.

Eliot could scream. " _Correction?_ "

"Sneaking around, being friends with that _Taylor_ kid," Ethan, the second oldest of the Waugh brothers, chimes in. "We told you to stay away from him, El - "

Quentin whirls on him. " _None_ of you get to call him that," he hisses, so furious it takes conscious effort to keep his fingers from literally sparking. "You all beat and _bullied_ him, you don't get - "

"And who are you to tell us what we can and can't do in our own home?" Darren growls, finally pushing his way through the crowd. "How we can treat the _disgrace_ of our family?"

"I'm his fucking friend, dickhead," Quentin snarls. "And a decent goddamn person."

"And is that his bastard child in your belly?" Mariah asks, vicious.

"If it was, I'd hope it gets all the best parts of him and none of you," Quentin retorts. "Not that any of you would get a chance to see him. I wouldn't want our kid to know the people who abused his father and hid behind their faith to justify it."

This, more than anything his family could say, is enough to send Eliot reeling - but his mother has already opened her mouth to spit yet more of her vitriol, and Eliot can't. He just can't. "Enough," he snaps, the hand on Quentin's arm tightening. "We're done here. I hope you all rot in hell, alongside the monster you're all here to mourn."

Quentin glares at Eliot's family as they leave, his head held high - and his fingers curling over each other by his side. Nobody notices or comments, and just before the door shuts behind them, Quentin gives in to the urge to finish his mass hex with a middle finger and a vicious grin. The constipated fury on Ethan's face as he slams the door is more than worth it. " _Such_ a bunch of bastards," he announces, loud enough to be heard inside as they step off the porch. "Even hell's too good for them."

Eliot doesn't say anything until they're back in the car and well on their way back to the B&B. His hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are white, and his jaw is set so hard that it must ache - but his first thought is for Quentin. "I'm sorry," he says at last. "I shouldn't have brought you here."

"Don't be ridiculous, how much worse would they have been if you'd been alone?" Quentin counters without hesitation. "Also, you didn't _bring_ me, I volunteered to come, because I care about you."

Eliot lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes, just for a moment. "Don't," he says. "I shouldn't have come at all. I don't know what I was thinking. Closure? Yeah, right."

Quentin hesitates briefly before reaching out, laying his hand over one of Eliot's on the steering wheel. "You did get closure; now you know for sure there's no redemption for any of them," he points out, quiet. "You can cut them out of your life without worrying about whether there was ever a chance. And knowing that they are all going to have the absolute _worst_ month of their lives. I think I might've miscalculated the circumstances and made that hex a bit too strong."

Eliot snorts. "I can't believe you hexed them," he says, and squeezes Quentin's hand. " _Thank you_."

Quentin grins. "Well, they deserved a lot worse than a month of rotten luck, but that was what I could get away with," he says lightly. "What do you say we pick up a ridiculous amount of food, some good wine for you, and binge watch _Glee_ before going home tomorrow?"

Eliot laughs more freely this time. "That actually sounds pretty perfect."

So, that's what they do. They stop at a diner for takeaway, then at a convenience store for a ridiculous amount of junk food and a couple of their better bottles of wine, and they go back to the B&B. They set themselves up on the bed, Eliot fussing with the food as Quentin fusses with the TV, finding _Glee_ and starting it from the very first episode before taking the plate Eliot hands him. He settles back onto the bed, leaning into Eliot with a pleased sigh, and balances his plate on his stomach. "One good thing about this," he muses. "Built-in table for eating in bed."

"Just the one good thing," Eliot teases, leaning over to steal a fry. "Not like you're getting anything else out of this."

"Hey!" Quentin squawks in protest, smacking Eliot's hand too lightly to be a true reprimand. "You have your own fries, asshole. Leave the pregnant man's alone."

"But yours taste so much better," Eliot complains, unable to fight his grin.

"Oh, yeah, because they're flavored with betray-" Quentin sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes going wide as his gaze darts to his stomach. "What the - "

Eliot's dinner almost ends up on the floor. "What is it?" he demands. "Is it the baby?"

Quentin moves his plate, sets it on the nightstand - nearly dropping it when he jerks once - before reaching for Eliot's hand, pulling it to his stomach. He presses Eliot's palm flat against the side of his stomach, shifting it a little after a moment. "Hold on, just - tell me if you... There! Did you feel that?"

Eliot's breath leaves him with a _whoosh_. "The baby's kicking," he realises. "Holy shit, Q!"

Quentin laughs, high and breathless. "He's kicking," he agrees. "I didn't - I thought I'd felt him move around a little? But nothing like this, and you can feel it, too!" His hand tightens over Eliot's, and he's grinning when he meets Eliot's gaze. 

Eliot grins right back. "There's really a fucking baby in there," he laughs.

That makes Quentin snort. "What did you think I had shoved up there, a watermelon?"

Eliot throws him a teasing scowl. "It's just such an odd concept," he says, "that any one of us would become a parent. But that's probably because most of us would be total disasters. You're going to be really good at it, Q."

"Only because I'm going to have good people to help me," Quentin counters, squeezing Eliot's hand where it's still pressed to his stomach and laughing when he feels another kick. "Christ, he's going to start taking shots at the rest of my organs now, isn't he?"

Eliot barks a laugh. "I have no idea," he says. "I understand how babies are made, but I have no idea what happens after that."

Quentin shakes his head, something odd about the angle of his smile as he gives Eliot's hand one last squeeze before he releases it, reaching for his plate of food. "Well, we've got some time to work that out yet," he says. "Let's take tonight, yeah?"

* * *

It's a nice night, all things considered. Eliot doesn't get nearly as drunk as he thought he would, but he does get quite drunk, and Quentin is kind enough not to judge him while he cycles through inappropriate humour, indescribable rage and, finally, dissolves into tears. He cries for a long time, and Quentin holds him through it, tells him he's worth so much more than the people they left behind in that house today, and he knows it, he does, but hearing it from Quentin means so much. It means everything.

When he finally calms down he's exhausted, and Quentin doesn't let him return to his makeshift bed on the floor. Eliot doesn't have the strength to argue, so he lets Quentin wrestle him beneath the covers and curl himself around him with Eliot's head on his chest. One hand, tucked between them, rests on Quentin's stomach, and Eliot definitely doesn't shed a few tears while Quentin sleeps above him for the life he could have led, if only he'd been brave enough to ask for it - and not too broken to be wanted in return.

They leave early the next morning, Eliot doing his best to power through the hangover, and when they get back to their apartment it's to discover someone waiting for them on the couch. Eliot is still feeling a little heartsore after Quentin's brilliant display of faith and loyalty yesterday, so he's quite relieved to learn that Julia's latest research trip wrapped up sooner than she'd expected, and she's got a week or so before the next one to spend with her best friend. Quentin seems reluctant to leave Eliot alone, but he insists, so they leave for lunch not long after that.

Eliot makes sure not to let the smile slip from his face until the door has closed behind them. _Fuck this_. He's going back to bed.

* * *

"So Eliot looks like shit," Julia says casually once they've taken their seats in the little cafe that Quentin likes just down the street. "How was the funeral?"

"The funeral was fine," Quentin says, scowling. "It was the wake that was shit. I knew his family was awful, but _Jesus._ I ended up hexing the lot of them with a month's bad luck when we left."

Julia's eyes widen. "That's not a small spell," she says. "What the hell happened?"

"One of the first things his mother did was call him a fag," Quentin sighs, letting the menu drop from his hands so he can scrub them over his face. "The rest of them got these smug, _approving_ looks, and then his aunt defended his father regularly beating him, said he needed 'correction.' And his brothers are _assholes,_ Darren absolutely deserves the hex that Margo and I came up with in third year, and I'm gonna ask her to help me do it long-distance."

"That's awful," Julia says, dismayed. "I bet Eliot was devastated."

"That was the worst part," Quentin confesses. "He acted like that's exactly how he _expected_ them to behave." He hesitates for a moment before confessing, "I... may have gone off on his entire extended family. Called them a bunch of bigoted assholes to their faces, and implied they were cowards hiding behind Christianity as an excuse to abuse Eliot for being different."

"Oh my god," Julia laughs. "Good! It sounds like they definitely deserved it."

"They deserved so much worse," Quentin says fiercely. "His mother tried to drag my baby into it, called me a 'fellow freak of nature' and asked if it was his 'bastard child' in my belly. Honestly, if they'd been magicians, I'd have skipped the hexes and gone straight for battle magic at that."

Julia's expression clouds over. "I hope he defended you," she says. "What did you say?"

"He told her to shut up, his family tried to jump on him, and I - " Quentin hesitates, worrying his lip, then admits, "I said, if it was his, I'd hope it got all the best parts of him - not that I'd let our kid anywhere near the people who stood by and let his father be abused. That was when we left."

Julia's jaw drops. "Q," she says, "that's a little close to home."

Quentin's gaze drops to the table. "I know," he whispers. "But I-I couldn't lie, and I couldn't just let it _go,_ I had to say something."

"How did Eliot react?" Julia asks.

Quentin shrugs. "He didn't, really," he says. "Just said that was enough, we were leaving. We ended up getting a load of food and going back to the room to binge _Glee._ " He's not going to mention the way that Eliot had broken down, the last bit of buried hope, that final shred of _maybe,_ finally being wiped out by his family's behavior. Quentin drags his thoughts back to the present, puts on a bright smile. "Oh! We felt the baby kick for the first time."

Julia raises an eyebrow. "'We'?"

Heat rises to Quentin's cheeks. "I felt him kick, and then I grabbed Eliot's hand and he felt him kick, too."

"Quentin," Julia groans, "what are you doing? To yourself _and_ Eliot."

"I'd have done the same thing if it had been your family being assholes, or if you'd been there when the baby kicked for the first time," Quentin argues. 

"But it wasn't me," Julia says. "It was the actual father of your child. You're not being fair to either of you, Q. He's been so involved throughout the pregnancy - do you think that's going to change once the baby's born?"

"He's been involved the way my best friend-slash-roommate would be involved regardless of who the father was," Quentin says, expression mulish. "And that's how it'll stay. He'll be Uncle Eliot, you'll be Aunt Julia, and this kid will also have an Aunt Kady, Uncle Penny, Aunt Margo, and Aunt Alice."

"And he doesn't deserve to know that Uncle Eliot is actually his father?" Julia asks. "Eliot doesn't deserve to know that the kid he already adores is actually his?"

"What would that help? What would that _change,_ Jules?" Quentin asks, a little desperate, a little wet. "It wouldn't change how he'd act around the kid, and all - " He swallows, gaze dropping to the table again, where his hands are shifting and flexing restlessly. "All telling him at this point is going to do is piss him off and upset him," Quentin whispers. 

Julia reaches out and grasps his hands. "You don't know that," she says. "You could be so happy, Q. Why won't you try?"

Quentin takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Because I'm scared," he confesses. "Because I'm so _damn_ in love with him that it terrifies me whenever I think about it too long, but I can't risk losing him, I can't take that gamble. Because I've lived with him for almost six years now, here and at Brakebills, and he doesn't do serious romantic relationships, not with people like me. Not with _me._ All he ever wanted beyond friendship was a few fucks, he made that perfectly clear."

"Things change, Q, people change," Julia insists. "He cares so much about you."

Quentin laughs, just once, and it's humorless. "Caring about me, hooking up _once_ when we were both drunk almost completely out of our minds, and then being a good friend while I'm pregnant doesn't mean he's _in love_ with me." He sighs, reaching up to run one hand through his hair. "It means he's a good man, and this kid is gonna be lucky to have him in his life in any way."

Julia sighs. "I just want what's best for you, Q," she says. "If you're sure that this is it..."

Quentin's expression is sad, resigned. "It's not like I can change it now. I made my choice, Jules."

"Yeah," Julia agrees. "I guess you did."

* * *

It takes Julia almost a week to corner Eliot. He's shared a few meals with her and Quentin, and caught her looking at him thoughtfully on more than one occasion, but he's been spending a lot of time with Margo since the funeral and Quentin's been spending a lot of time with Julia, so there hasn't really been a chance. He isn't surprised when the moment comes, however.

Kady and Penny are coming over for dinner later, so Eliot is in the kitchen cooking up a storm. He barely looked up when Quentin told him he was going out to pick up a prescription, but he did hear Julia decline Quentin's offer of a walk. The front door closes behind him and barely a few moments later soft footsteps approach the kitchen and then just - stop. Eliot sighs.

"Don't hover," he says, without turning around. "Just spit it out, whatever it is."

Julia doesn't mince words. "You love him, don't you?"

Eliot's breath leaves him like he's been punched. "What are you talking about?" he asks.

"Quentin," Julia says, in a tone that clearly says she's humoring Eliot right now as she moves closer. "You're in love with him."

Eliot sighs and turns away from the flour he's measuring out for his béchamel sauce. "I don't know what business it is of yours," he says tersely.

Julia shrugs, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans against the opposite counter. "Quentin's my best friend," she says evenly. "And he deserves to be happy."

Eliot laughs at that. "Whether or not I'm in love with him has no bearing on Quentin's happiness," he says, "believe me."

"It does when you're the father of his kid."

Time stops. The earth stops. Everything stops, except for the sound Eliot's making, which seems to be some kind of strangled, deranged laughter. "No," he says. "That's ridiculous. I am not the father of anyone's kid, because in order to do that, I'd have needed to have _sex_ with someone, and I have definitely _not_ had sex with _Quentin_."

One eyebrow lifts. "When was the last time you fucked someone?"

Eliot knows this one. This one makes sense. "New Year's," he says. "I fucked that guy Jeff or whatever."

"Frank," Julia says. "And no, you didn't. You and Q were all over each other through the whole party, and then he practically climbed into your lap to kiss you when the ball dropped, and you two left. He told me the next day that you hooked up."

"No," Eliot says, "that's not true. You're lying."

"I'm not," Julia says, her tone even before just a little bit of frustration bleeds through. "I've been trying to convince him to tell you ever since New Year's, but he's _insistent_ that you wouldn't care, or, after we found out the condom failed, that you didn't want the responsibility of being a father instead of an uncle, so he wasn’t going to ask."

Eliot chokes out another laugh. "That's-- ridiculous."

"Which part? Because I know that _you_ know how stubborn Q can be once he gets an idea in his head." Julia sighs. "Look, I love Q, and I care about you. This has been tearing him up, and after everything that happened in Indiana - "

Eliot flinches. "Don't," he says. He stares at Julia. "Why should I believe you? What am I supposed to do with this information?"

Julia clearly resists the urge to roll her eyes. "Go get an honest answer out of Quentin," she tells him. "He refuses to bring it up with you, so you'll have to bring it up yourself, but you deserve the truth, Eliot."

Eliot grits his teeth. "Well, there's not a lot I can do about it right now," he says. "Q's not here, and I have a lasagne to make. So. If you'll excuse me."

Julia wisely doesn't say anything else, just nods and pushes off of the counter, exiting the kitchen and leaving Eliot to his cooking and his thoughts. 

* * *

There's something up with Eliot. 

When Quentin got back from picking up his prescription, Julia had been occupied with a book in the living room, and Eliot had been busy putting the final details together for dinner. Normal enough. But then, he hadn't said hello to Quentin when he got back or when Kady and Penny had arrived, hadn't acknowledged him when he stuck his head out of the kitchen and said that dinner was ready, and he barely looked at Quentin through the whole meal. He looked at the others, spoke to them, but there was something off about his tone, and when he wasn't talking he was gazing down at his plate, mouth curved in that frown that meant something was bothering him. 

Quentin doesn't try to approach Eliot until after everyone's left. He finds Eliot in the kitchen, putting leftovers away and stacking dishes to be washed. Quentin hovers in the doorway for a moment before he finally takes a deep breath, and takes the plunge. "What's wrong, El?"

Eliot slams the baking tray he's holding down onto the counter with a _crash_. "I don't know, Quentin," he says. "You tell me."

Quentin startles, staring at Eliot with wide eyes. "What are you talking about? How should I know what's got you in this mood?"

"Because you know a lot of things I don't, Quentin," Eliot snaps. "Like who the father of your baby is, for instance."

Dread settles like a lead weight, low in his stomach. "What are you getting at, Eliot?"

Eliot finally turns to look at him, and there's a look on his face that Quentin's never seen before. "Did we have sex at New Year's?"

That lead weight sinks all the way down through the floor. Quentin can practically _feel_ the blood drain from his face, but he makes himself swallow down the lump in his throat, the defensive urge to lie, and meet Eliot's gaze as he whispers, "Yes."

Eliot wants to throw up. "Is the baby mine?" he asks.

This time, the answer is shaky, but still unmistakable. "Yes."

"Right." Eliot's voice is low now, dangerous. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"No," Quentin breathes, and his gaze drops before he pulls it up again; he owes Eliot more than hiding away, now that they're having this conversation. "I-I told you. 'It was a one night stand; doesn't mean he wants to be a father.'"

"And what the _fuck_ makes you think that's your decision to make?" Eliot growls.

Something other than dread finally sparks in the back of Quentin's throat. "Because it's my fucking body," he spits. "And because I _know_ you. You didn't want any of the responsibilities of being a parent, so I wasn't going to ask that of you. Being this kid's - " One hand drops unconsciously to the curve of his stomach, an instinctive, protective gesture - "uncle was enough."

"Then you don't know me at all," Eliot snarls. He's vibrating with rage. "You think I want to be this kid's _uncle?_ Fuck you, Quentin."

Distantly, Quentin's aware of the sound he makes, like he's just had the breath knocked from his lungs. "El - "

"No," Eliot snaps, and he's already moving, his long legs making short work of the space between him and the door. " _Fuck you_ , Quentin." He pauses long enough to grab his jacket and his phone and then he's gone, the front door slamming shut behind him.

Quentin stays where he is, frozen, for several minutes, long after the echo of the slamming door is replaced by the sound of a storm breaking. Mechanically, he walks to the couch, grabs a blanket, and settles in to wait for... 

Something. 

* * *

The crack of thunder almost drowns out the knocking on her front door, and it's only the vague tingle of her wards recognizing Eliot's magic that alerts Margo to the fact that he's standing outside of her apartment. She opens the door before he can knock again, already talking. "Well, this is unexpected, come - " She stops, blinking. "El," she says, slowly. "What the fuck?"

Eliot was kind of hoping that the rain soaking him to the bone and still pouring from the sky would somehow disguise the tears on his face, but apparently not. He takes a deep breath, searching for the words, but all he manages is, "It's Q."

Margo's eyes widen, and she ushers him in. "What about him? Is he okay? Is the baby?"

"He's fine," Eliot says, peeling his sodden jacket off. Now that he's inside he realises how cold he is, and he starts to shiver. "Baby's fine. Except for the fact that it's half me."

Margo, already in the process of bringing over a blanket for Eliot, freezes. "It - _What?_ "

"It's my baby," Eliot says dully. "We had sex at New Year."

"So you were the hook up over the holidays," Margo says, coming closer and wrapping the blanket around Eliot's shoulders, tugging at the corners to guide him to the couch. "What the _fuck,_ Quentin. Did he tell you?"

Eliot collapses onto it, and curls in on himself while Margo sits down beside him. "Julia told me," he says. "I made him admit it."

" _Julia_ told you?" Margo repeats, incredulous. "Why? Why didn't _he_ tell you?"

"Because it was a meaningless fuck and I don't want to be a father," Eliot tells her. "And it's his body, so it's his decision."

Margo blinks, frowning. "Well, the last, yeah, okay. Can't argue with that. But how the _fuck_ did he come to those first two conclusions?"

Eliot sighs. "I've never made it a secret that kids aren't exactly on my agenda, and he did just come with me to my deadbeat dad's funeral, so I guess we can't fault him for the assumption that I don't want to be a father," he says. "As for the first part..." He shrugs. "I guess it was meaningless to him."

”Bullshit,” Margo says bluntly. “That boy thinks the sun shines out of your ass. Not to mention that he _doesn’t do meaningless sex._ Did he say that? That it was just a hook up?”

"Yeah," Eliot says. "You were there when he said it when he told us he was pregnant, and he said it again tonight."

Margo frowns, like something isn’t quite adding up, but she drops that particular line of questioning. “Well, all right. What are you going to do, now that you know?”

"I don't know," Eliot says. "I told him to go fuck himself and walked out."

Margo raises an eyebrow. "Eloquent. What are you feeling right now, then? Let's start there and make a plan."

Eliot shakes his head. "I don't know," he says again. "I’m terrified. I'm devastated. I'm going to be a dad, and if it wasn't for Julia deciding to be a terrible friend to Q, I'd never have found out. But I do know. I have a son. And Quentin wants me to just be Uncle Eliot, but I... I don't think I want to be." He looks up at Margo, his eyes wide. "I think I want to be a dad."

Margo nods slowly. "Okay. That's... a little out of left field, baby, I'm not going to lie."

"I know," Eliot says, "I'm self-aware enough to realise that I am not dad material, thank you, Bambi. But it's not ever something I've really thought about. I think we both know I've never really been in the position to _accidentally_ make a baby. And it's Q, Margo. It's _our kid_. Maybe I'll be just as much of a waste of space as my own father - but maybe I won't be. And what better way to stick it to him than to try?"

"So, you... want to try being a father out of spite," Margo says slowly, brow furrowed. "Honey, that doesn't sound very healthy."

"Ugh, no," Eliot says. "That's not what I mean. But maybe I know enough about being a shit father to actually be a good one? I don't know. Should I walk away from this kid because I'm scared out of my mind?" He sighs. "Look. Can I tell you something that's... deeply, horrifically embarrassing?"

Margo's expression softens. "Of course."

"I was jealous when I found out Q slept with someone," Eliot says. "I wished it was me, even after I found out that the end result was a baby. But more than that, I've fucking... hated the asshole he slept with. Because how could he be with Quentin and walk away? Did he know what he was missing out on, not being in his own kid's life? In Q's life? Because he's brilliant, and he's going to be an amazing father. He already loves that baby so much. And so do I. I love them both, Bambi."

Margo stares at Eliot for a long moment, mouth open in a silent 'o,' before she finally finds her voice again. "Well, shit. I didn't realize it was that serious for you, El."

Eliot deflates, sinking back into the sofa, and covers his face with his hands. "What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

Margo slips an arm around Eliot's shoulders, pulling him into her. "Well, first, you get it all out here on my couch with some good wine," she says. "Then we figure out how to approach this. You love them, so let's figure out you keep them."

Eliot nods against her, and hopes she won't judge him too harshly for the way he sniffles a little.

* * *

Margo does indeed pull out the good wine, but she's careful not to let Eliot get drunk. He appreciates it, he does, even if he wishes he had a _little_ bit more of a buffer as he makes his way back to his own apartment. The storm's petering out, barely more than a sullen sprinkle as he makes his way back home, and he arrives at the apartment looking far less like a drowned rat than he had at Margo's. 

When he opens the door, the first thing he hears is the sound of the shower; before he can feel too relieved that he has a moment more to prepare himself, however, another voice breaks into his thoughts. "I ought to hex you where you stand, Waugh."

Eliot groans. "Fuck off, Kady. I need to talk to Q."

Kady remains in the entryway, expression unimpressed and with her arms crossed over her chest. "No, you don't. Do you know how long it took me to convince him to get off of the couch and go take a shower to try to relax? He's been in there for all of _three minutes,_ Eliot."

"Listen, you overgrown Yorkie, you're not actually his fucking guard dog, okay? That's my _best friend_ in there. You really think I'm here to hurt him? Fuck off."

Kady's eyes flash, and she takes a step towards Eliot, her hands dropping to curl into fists. "Yeah? Well maybe you should fucking _act like it,_ " she hisses. "Telling him that you don't want anything to do with him or his kid, to go fuck himself, and then storming out? I thought we were supposed to be goddamn adults by now, Waugh."

Eliot doesn't back down. "I never said I don't want anything to do with them," he snarls, "I _said_ that I don't want to be the kid's _uncle_ \- and you know what? I don't need to explain myself to you, bitch, I need to talk to the one person in all of this who actually matters. So move, or I will move you."

"Did you not hear me when I said he _just got in the shower?_ " Kady demands, but it sounds more exasperated than hostile. "What the fuck _did_ you mean, then? Because he's really fucking convinced that that's what you meant - if you don't want to be the kid's uncle, then you don't want to be in their lives, period."

"I will explain what I meant _to Q_ ," Eliot says, fighting to keep his voice even. "I should not have to tell you again that he is my best friend, and that I have no intention of walking out on him or this baby. Whatever my actions while I was _extremely upset_ may have suggested, I would never knowingly hurt him. But I cannot make this right if you do not get out of my way."

Kady studies him through narrowed eyes for a long moment before she nods, once, sharp and jerky. “All right. If Q says he wants to hear you out, then I’ll leave. But if he needs more time, I’ll throw you out myself.”

Eliot relaxes, but only a little. "That won't be necessary," he assures her. "If he decides for himself that he doesn't want to see me, I'll leave."

The corner of Kady's lips twitch at that. "Sit down," she says, backing up and nodding towards the couch. "I'll tell him you're back."

"Thank you," Eliot says tightly, and walks into his own goddamn apartment to sit on his own goddamn couch with his head held high.

He sits in silence for close to five minutes, all told, before Quentin emerges from the hallway leading to their bedrooms and bathrooms. His hair is still damp, curly and frizzy from being toweled dry, and he's wearing a pair of pajama pants and an old tank top, so worn that it drapes over his stomach instead of stretches. The worst part, though, is the wariness in his eyes as he looks at El, the way he braces himself before he turns to Kady, murmuring something to her. She nods and gives Eliot a Look, returning Quentin's murmur with one of her own before she heads for the door. Quentin approaches the living room slowly, doesn't speak until he's settled in the armchair. "Kady said you had something you wanted to explain?"

Eliot takes a breath. "I'm sorry for storming out," he says. "I was upset, but I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. Are you okay?"

Quentin shrugs. "I'm better than I was when Kady got here," he says evenly. 

"Good," Eliot says, "I'm glad." He swallows. "I wish you'd told me. I wish you'd given me the chance to make my own decision about this, instead of just deciding for me."

Quentin sighs. "How was I supposed to do that?" he asks. "Just - risk everything we had? I didn't want to put that on you, especially not once I knew I was going to keep the baby, no matter what."

"Q, you're my best friend," Eliot says, stricken. "How could you think this would risk anything? Do you really think I'd, what, just never speak to you again? I've been right by your side this whole time."

Quentin shrugs one shoulder, gaze dropping to his hands, twisted together in his lap. "I didn't know what you'd do," he confesses. "And I - It just seemed... safer. To say it was just a one night stand, and the condom failed. Close enough to the truth."

"Yeah, well, I know the actual truth now," Eliot says. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Quentin's gaze lifts again, and he searches Eliot's face intently. "You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Eliot says, a little harsher than he intends. "And honestly, fuck the 'uncle' thing. I might not have the best experience with good fathers, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to try."

Quentin blinks, looks like this is the absolute last thing he expected Eliot to say. "You - You want to be his dad?"

"He's my son, too," Eliot says. "It's your decision, I get that, but yeah. That's what I want."

"Oh," Quentin says - breathes, really - his eyes wide. He blinks again, a small, almost shy smile curving his mouth, before he offers, "That's... That's what I want, too, I just didn't think you - But if you're sure, that you want to be _that_ involved, I'm not gonna say no. I'd be glad to raise our kid with you."

Eliot releases a breath he didn't realise he was holding. "Okay," he says, and laughs a little. "Great. Thanks, I guess? This is probably the strangest conversation I've ever had. 'Sorry for knocking you up during a random hookup I can't even remember, thanks for letting me stay in the kid's life.' Sure."

Quentin's own laugh is disbelieving and amused. "Yeah, this is a really weird situation," he agrees, relaxing back into his seat. "I'm not gonna lie, I _was_... a little relieved when I realized you didn't remember who you hooked up with. It made it easier to, well." He waves a hand in a vague gesture, expression sheepish. 

"Brush it all under the rug?" Eliot asks darkly. "I get that you think it was all some huge mistake, but still. It'd be nice if I did remember." He's not bitter at all.

Quentin's clearly taken aback, and when he speaks again, there's something _off_ about his tone. "What, because you want to remember every time you've ever had sex?" He might be aiming for joking, but falls far short of the mark. "You're incorrigible."

Eliot rolls his eyes. "No, God. Is that really what you think of me?"

"No, sorry, I - " Quentin looks like he almost literally bites his tongue, and then he blows out a breath and tries again. "What did you mean, then?"

"That it was my one fucking shot and I _forgot about it_ ," Eliot says. Okay, maybe he's a little bitter.

Quentin sucks in a sharp breath. "'One shot'? What are you talking about?" If Eliot let himself, he might hear a desperate, hopeful note in Quentin's voice. 

Eliot sighs. _In for a penny._ "Look, we all know that you're Mister No Sex Unless It Means Something. I accepted that a long time ago, and it's fine. It's just that if I was going to be the only exception to that rule, I wish I'd been sober enough to remember it."

The sound that escapes Quentin might be a laugh, if not for how punched and shocked it sounds. "’The only exception'?" he repeats. "You - I - What makes you think you're the _exception?_ "

"Because you don't want to be with me, Q," Eliot says, like it physically pains him to do so. "You said yourself that it was a huge mistake, and it's not like I don't get it, because I do. Who would want to be with someone like me? I'm a colossal fuck-up and a horrible person, you know that better than anyone."

Quentin's eyes widen impossibly further. "I never said it was a mistake, I said it was an _accident_ \- and I only meant the pregnancy. You are _not_ a fuck-up, El, or a horrible person. How could you even think that _I'd_ think that, after everything?"

"Because you've met me?" Eliot suggests. "Christ, even Margo would tell you I'm not good for much except mixing an excellent cocktail and then drinking far too many. I own a _bar_ , Q. I have far too much emotional baggage that I don't know what to do with and I refuse to grow up. You trusted me to take responsibility for my actions so much that you didn't even tell me we were having a kid. I'm no one's ideal life partner and I am aware of that. That doesn't stop me from wishing--"

" _Hey,_ no, stop that," Quentin says sharply, struggling out of the chair so he can sit on the couch next to Eliot. "I didn't tell you that this kid is ours because I didn't want to put you in the position of feeling like, no matter whether you thought you were ready or not, you _had_ to be his father. It had nothing to do with how responsible I think you are, which, for the record, I think you're really damn responsible. Owning a business of _any_ kind is a huge amount of responsibility, El, and I love Margo, but _you're_ the reason the Tut is doing so well." Quentin pauses, then, worries his lip for a moment before he asks, quietly, "What... What are you wishing for?"

But Eliot shakes his head. "Forget it," he says, "it doesn't matter."

But Quentin doesn't let the subject drop. He hesitates, sure, but then he reaches out, touches the back of Eliot's hand gently. "El - "

"I wish you'd choose me." The words burst from Eliot completely unbidden, and he gapes in shock for a moment before they just-- keep coming. "I wish for just one second you'd see me as an option instead of, I don't know, someone who'd make a funny uncle for your kid. But that makes me sound like a terrible friend, and that's one thing I try so hard not to be, especially to you and Margo. I know it's not an option, I just." He swallows. "I wish I could at least remember kissing you."

Quentin stares at him for a long moment, equally shocked, before realization breaks across his expression, followed closely by something desperately, painfully hopeful. " _Eliot,_ " he breathes. "I never - I didn't think you... You're not a terrible friend, you're my _best_ friend, and if I'd known you wanted - wanted fucking _life partners _to be an option for us, I'd have been all over that _years_ ago."__

__

____

Suddenly, all of Eliot's words seem to have dried up, and all he can manage is a strangled, "What?"

Quentin huffs a laugh. "You're not the exception, El," he says, hand shifting so that he's gripping Eliot's, his expression pleading. "You're... You're _everything._ "

"Q," Eliot breathes. He's shaking. "Don't just say that because you feel like you should, or because you want our kid to have both his dads. I'm going to be this baby's dad no matter what."

Quentin shakes his head. "You said it yourself, I don't do casual sex. I-I panicked, when I woke up on New Year's. Because you _do_ do casual sex, and I couldn't imagine it was anything but that for you, because I didn't think... And then after I found out, that you didn't remember, that I was pregnant… It was just - just easier. To stay in that limbo, instead of risking telling you everything and losing you because you didn't feel the same, and I couldn't handle that."

"Well, I can promise you now," Eliot says, squeezing Quentin's hand, "there's nothing you could say to me that would make me walk away. Or almost nothing."

"Not walking away isn't the same as staying because you feel the same way I do," Quentin points out, gaze dropping to their joined hands. He pauses, licking his lips, before asking, "What would make you walk away? For future reference, so I can avoid that."

Eliot laughs softly and pulls their hands towards him. "I mean, if Julia's about to jump out at me and tell me this has all been a big joke, I think I'd have a hard time speaking to you ever again," he says. "But I don't think you're going to do that. And I think we've already established that I wouldn't be staying out of obligation."

Quentin snorts, sming. "No, not a joke," he agrees. For the first time since Eliot walked out that afternoon - Christ, has it only been an afternoon and an evening? - there's barely any tension in Quentin's body, the way he carries himself as he looks up, searches Eliot's gaze intently. "I - For the record, why _are_ you staying?"

For just a split second, fear seizes Eliot's heart - but he makes himself let it go, breathe, and be brave. "Because I'm in love with you," he says.

There's no hesitation in the bloom of Quentin's smile, the way he twines his fingers with Eliot's as he sighs, "Good. Because I'm in love with you."

Eliot lets out a shaky breath that's almost a laugh, a smile of his own stealing across his face. "God," he says. "Did we really have to make a baby before we figured this out?"

Quentin does laugh, though it's soft. "I mean, I told you to quit propositioning me in our first year, then when I realized I was in love with you, you never flirted with me any more than you did with Margo, so I figured I'd kind of shot myself in the foot, there, and I wasn't any kind of option for you. I... don't know that I ever would have confessed if Julia didn't force my hand, because I was so sure you didn't feel the same."

"I wanted to respect your boundaries after you told me to back off," Eliot offers, "and when you did that you said it wouldn't happen because you only sleep with someone if it means something. I figured that meant it would never mean something with me." He shrugs. "I probably wouldn't have told you, either."

Quentin laughs again, but this time it's wet. "Christ, we're a pair," he mutters, smiling even as he reaches with his free hand to wipe at his eyes. 

Eliot laughs with him, and tugs on his hand a little. "Will you get over here?"

Grinning, Quentin complies, scooting closer, until their thighs are pressed together. "Now what?"

Eliot reaches out with his free hand to touch Quentin's face, to cradle his cheek against his palm and stroke the soft skin just behind his ear. "Now," he says, "I want to kiss you and actually remember it this time."

Quentin's smile softens, and he leans into Eliot's touch. "That sounds like a good idea to me."

Eliot wasn't kidding about remembering this. He takes a moment just to look at Quentin, to drink in the sight of him, flushed and happy and just a little nervous, his eyes closed and his face tilted up like he wants to be kissed. Like he wants _Eliot_ to kiss him. And who is Eliot to deny him? The first brush of lips is soft and sweet, tender but still a little unsure. When Quentin doesn't jump back and slap him, though, when no one jumps out from behind the sofa and shouts _'psych, you idiot!'_ , Eliot presses in for another. This one is everything Eliot ever hoped it would be, and then some.

Quentin sighs, relaxing into the first kiss, and then even further into the second. His free hand moves, curls over Eliot’s shoulder and around the back of his neck. He presses closer - or tries to, anyway, before being stopped by the baby bump pressing against Eliot’s arm. He pulls away, grimacing down at his stomach. “Really?”

Eliot laughs and lets his hand fall to rest on the bump. "I love touching you here," he admits. "And I love feeling him kick."

Quentin smiles, tilting his head to rest his forehead against Eliot's. "I love when you touch the bump," he confesses. "I always felt guilty when you did, though, since you didn’t know..."

"Shh," Eliot soothes him. "So did I, for pretending for a second that it was my baby, that we were happy." He grins. "Turns out we're both fucking stupid."

"So stupid," Quentin sighs, but he's smiling. "But we aren't going to be stupid anymore, right?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'll be very stupid many times," Eliot chuckles, "but not about this."

Quentin snickers, ducking in for another kiss. "I think I can live with that."

* * *

They take a while to just... make out, because they can _do that now_ , and then Quentin wriggles out of Eliot's arms with the insistence that he needs to call Julia. Although he's admittedly grateful for what Julia did, Eliot gets that entirely, so he lets him go. He even leaves the room to give Quentin some semblance of privacy, and calls Margo while he's at it. She's over the moon, even if she does call him a pathetic, pining penis - bonus points for alliteration - for not listening to her earlier and ending all of this months ago.

Eliot could honestly talk to her for hours about this, and he probably would have, if not for the sudden yelling coming from the living room. He's seen Quentin mad plenty of times over the course of their friendship, but he rarely ever raises his voice. Eliot makes his apologies to Margo and hangs up before creeping out into the living room. Quentin is pacing in the middle of it, gesticulating wildly with the phone pressed to his ear. He cuts himself off just as Eliot reaches the couch to listen to whatever Julia has to say, frustration radiating from every harsh line of his body, and Eliot... doesn't know what to do.

He feels caught, strangely, when Quentin finally sees him, but he'll hold his ground until Quentin tells him to get lost. _You okay?_ he mouths, for lack of anything else to say.

Quentin rolls his eyes, opens his mouth to say something to Eliot, only to cut himself off. " _No,_ Julia, you fucking went behind my back, after I told you _how_ many times not to tell Eliot? Yes, it all worked out, but I am so _beyond_ furious with you!"

Eliot closes the rest of the distance between them and rests a hand on Quentin's arm, both to silently offer his support and to try to halt Quentin's pacing.

Quentin huffs out a breath, leans into Eliot. "Julia, I love you, but I cannot see you right now. I _trusted_ you to have my back on this, to respect my choices. You forced my hand, and more than that, you forced _Eliot's._ " He quiets for a moment before sighing heavily, hand lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose. "No, I'm not - I'll forgive you _eventually,_ but right now, I need to be mad, and _you_ need to understand how huge this is."

"Calm," Eliot murmurs. "The baby's had enough stress for one night, and so have you."

Quentin sticks his tongue out at Eliot, but he does take a deep breath, and his tone is noticeably calmer when he speaks again. "I know you're sorry, Jules. But I need some time, okay? You owe me that much." There's another pause, and then a tired smile curves his lips. "Yeah, okay. I love you, too."

He hangs up then, and Eliot just watches him, searching his face. "What did she say?" he asks when Quentin doesn't offer the information himself.

Quentin sighs, tucking his phone into his pocket. "Just... That she only wanted me to be happy," he says. "She meant well. Basically defending herself."

"And what do you think?"

"I don't know what to think right now," Quentin says tiredly, slumping against Eliot. "I mean, I wasn't planning on telling you how I felt, but - Something would've forced our hands eventually. I just hate that she did it, because she's my oldest friend, and she didn't even _warn_ me."

"She didn't mean to hurt you," Eliot offers, because he should probably at least try to defend her. "She knew what the outcome would be. She asked me if I was in love with you before she told me."

"I still didn't need to be _blindsided_ with you asking me if the baby is yours."

Eliot winces. "I'm sorry," he says. "I was... so angry."

Quentin sighs. "I know," he murmurs. "Can we just... go lie down?"

"Of course," Eliot says. "My room or yours?"

"Yours?" Quentin asks, hopeful. 

Eliot smiles. "Sure."

They head down the hall, flicking lights off as they go, and Quentin hesitates at the side of the bed. "Can we - No shirts?" he asks, cheeks flushing. "I just... really want to feel you close."

The look Eliot gives him is impossibly soft, and he starts unbuttoning his shirt without further thought. He slips it off and hangs it on the back of a chair, and then makes short work of the rest of his clothes, too. "I'm guessing we're actually going to bed," he says, glancing at Quentin.

Quentin doesn’t answer until he’s got his shirt tugged over his head. “I am _so_ exhausted,” he confesses, shoulders slumping as he drops the shirt somewhere on the floor. “I just - I want to go to sleep, process everything that happened today.”

Eliot is already pulling on a pair of sleep pants, and he crawls into bed once he's done. "It's going to be okay, you know," he says, watching Quentin calmly. "You'll make up with Julia, and we'll... be us. And it'll be okay."

"Eventually," Quentin agrees, climbing carefully under the covers. It takes a bit of effort to arrange himself comfortably, but as soon as he's settled, he reaches for Eliot. "C'mere."

Eliot goes to him, curls himself around Quentin with a hand resting on his bump. "This okay?" he asks, not sure why he's whispering.

Quentin makes a contented noise, reaching to lay his hand over Eliot's. "Perfect," he sighs, relaxing against the mattress. 

* * *

It takes them a couple of days to settle back into a comfortable rhythm, but once they do they realise that nothing much has changed. They kiss now, obviously, and their touches are a little more familiar, a little more sure, but they were close enough friends to begin with that the transition from roommates to - what, boyfriends? is pretty smooth. They also sleep in Eliot's bed every night, and that is just. Fantastic.

Kady comes over the day after their big moment just to make sure that Eliot definitely doesn't need to be eviscerated and to tell Quentin that her and Julia have had words. They're still friends, as far as Eliot can tell, but Kady is willing to follow Quentin's lead on this. Quentin himself hasn't spoken to Julia since he called her that night, and doesn't seem to have any intentions of doing so. Eliot is going to give it at least a week before he gets involved.

They're sitting on the couch right now. Eliot made dinner after he got home from the Tut and did the dishes as well because Quentin's feet hurt, and now Quentin is going over some lesson plans while Eliot scrolls through Facebook on his phone. He's perfectly content to enjoy the silence between them until he comes across a meme declaring that the people listed below will name their first child Karen, and then he looks up, considering. "Have you thought of any names yet?" he asks.

Quentin glances up from his laptop, frowning thoughtfully. "Not... really?" he says slowly. "Mostly just 'oh that's a neat name' sort of thoughts."

Just this time last week, Eliot probably would have let the subject drop there, too awkward to stick his nose into something that wasn't really his business or else too embarrassed by how invested he was in the answer. Now, though... "Yeah?" he asks, tucking his feet underneath him and twisting to face Quentin more fully. "Like what?"

Heat immediately rises to Quentin's cheeks, a sure sign that he's embarrassed by whatever he's about to say. "Rupert. Or Martin. But like - just as middle names. I don't want to be _that_ parent that blatantly names their kid after their favorite fictional characters."

"Wow," Eliot laughs, "okay. Who would you name him after, then? Or would you go for something new?"

"I'm not sure," Quentin admits. "I don't..." He worries his lip for a moment. "I don't really _like_ any of the - the 'new' names that I've found, but I don't have a whole lot of people with male names in my life, period. And then, obviously, I don't want to really pick something that _I'm_ super attached to, because he may decide later in life that he doesn't like that name for any reason and change it, and I don't want him to _not_ because of me."

"Okay, but you're fast-forwarding, like, at least ten years right now," Eliot says, a fond smile still curving his lips. "I know that's something that happened with you, but you're his dad and he's not exactly capable of voicing an opinion yet. You're allowed to choose a name you like."

”Yeah, but there’s a difference between a name I like, and a name I’m _attached_ to,” Quentin counters. “One is gonna be easier to give up without any fuss if he wants to change it.” The corner of his mouth quirks in a wry smile. “Believe me, it’s harder to let yourself change your name when one of your parents keeps going on and on about how they picked that name _especially_ for you.”

Eliot winces. "I'm guessing that was your mom," he says. "Your dad doesn't strike me as the type to have such a strong opinion."

"Not about the name I had," Quentin chuckles. "He did want me to be sure that I really liked the name I chose, though. But yeah, my mom was... Not the greatest about the whole thing."

"Well, we're not naming him after your mom," Eliot points out. "But what about your dad? He's always been really supportive of you, and he's definitely a lot better than mine was. And we know he won't be precious if the kid changes it."

"Your dad set the bar so low he had to dig," Quentin snorts. "But that's... Not a bad idea, actually." He smiles, soft, and doesn't seem to realize that one hand is resting on top of the baby bump. "Something to think about."

Eliot leans in to brush a soft kiss to Quentin's temple. "There's no rush," he murmurs.

"Baby's gonna be here in less than three months," Quentin points out, tone dry. "There's a little bit of rush."

"Well," Eliot says lightly, "if you can't decide, we'll just call him CW until he's old enough to choose for himself."

"'CW'?" Quentin echoes, lips quirked in a smile. "Where did you get that from?"

Eliot panics. "Uhh. Coldwater-Waugh," he admits. "But obviously that's up to you, it was just a joke."

Quentin laughs, but it's not malicious; it’s amused, and he reaches over to pull Eliot in for a kiss. "I like it," he says. "That solves the question of what his last name should be.”

Eliot blinks - and _beams_. "Really?"

Quentin's smile is fond. "Yes, really."

"Baby Coldwater-Waugh," Eliot says. He kisses Quentin again. "I guess that's a start."

* * *

Quentin and Julia eventually make up, and there’s maybe more than a few tears on both of their faces by the time they’re done. After that, life settles into their new normal, which includes Eliot going to Quentin’s doctor appointments along with Kady; she’d insisted she wanted to finish what she started, she was _invested,_ and when Quentin had given him the Coldwater Puppy Eyes, Eliot had relented. At seven months pregnant, Quentin’s now officially well into the last trimester, and Dr Larosh is keeping an accordingly close eye on him and the baby, who still needs an actual first name. 

Their day is filled with bloodwork, a physical exam, and a long talk with Dr Larosh to prepare all of them as much as possible for the next month and a half to two months, depending on when the baby decides to come. By the time Quentin and Eliot return home, Quentin’s all but dead on his feet. “Oh my _god_ ,” he groans, kicking his shoes off and mentally praising whatever saints exist for the existence of slip-on shoes. “Fuck, my feet are killing me, and _everything_ aches.”

"Why don't you sit down?" Eliot suggests. "I can run you a bath?"

"If I sit down, you're gonna have to carry me into the bath," Quentin promises. "I don't know if I'll be able to make myself get back up."

Eliot laughs. "All right, well get changed and I'll have it ready when you're done."

"You're too good to me," Quentin sighs, leaning in for a kiss - steadying himself on Eliot's shoulder, because his balance is _not_ what it used to be, and it wasn't always that reliable to begin with - before he goes to do as told.

Eliot lights a few candles and fills the bath with lavender-scented bubbles and his most luxurious Himalayan salts. He's just stooping to turn off the taps when he hears Quentin come into the room behind him, and he straightens up, unable to help the way his breath catches. Quentin is completely naked, and unbelievably beautiful. "Look at you," Eliot sighs. He can't resist closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around Quentin, feeling all that soft, warm skin pressed against him. "You're gorgeous."

Quentin goes into Eliot's arms easily, though it doesn't stop him from snorting, amused, as he loops his own arms loosely around Eliot's waist. "You're biased," he teases, tone light. "You love me."

Something warm curls in Eliot's stomach at the easy, confident way he says that. "I do love you," he agrees, "but that doesn't make it any less true." He reaches down to grab a handful of Quentin's ass, and then releases him entirely. "Go on, I didn't run it too hot but it should be nice and relaxing."

Quentin swats idly at Eliot's arm as he passes, heading for the bath and relief it promises. He steps in carefully, then eases himself into the water, sighing as he sinks down. " _Oh,_ that's perfect."

Eliot smiles softly. "Yeah?"

Quentin hums, reaching out to take Eliot's hand so he can tug him down and into a kiss. "It's amazing," he says, his own smile just as soft. "Thank you, babe."

"You're welcome," Eliot murmurs. He squeezes Quentin's hand and straightens up. "I'll leave you to it?"

"Or you could stay," Quentin suggests. "Keep me company." His smile turns teasing. "Maybe really lean into the cliche and rub my feet?"

Eliot heaves a put-upon sigh, but his smile softens it. "I'm going to get wet, aren't I?"

"You could get naked, too," Quentin points out, grinning. "Keep your clothes dry, at least."

Eliot smirks. "Naughty and practical," he says. "I like the way you think."

Quentin grins, unrepentant. "I will never pass up an opportunity to see you shirtless," he laughs. 

Eliot rolls his eyes, but he does start undoing buttons. He strips down to his underwear, his shirt, vest and pants folded neatly just outside the bathroom door, and he's aware of Quentin's keen gaze on him as he perches delicately on the edge of the bath. "I believe you requested a foot rub?"

Quentin beams, shifting so that he can lift one foot out of the water. "I did."

Eliot settles Quentin's foot between his hands and digs his thumbs into the arch, firm but gentle. "Okay?" he asks.

Quentin lets out a pleased breath, sinking further into the water. " _Very_ okay," he sighs.

Eliot smiles. He's given Margo enough foot rubs over the years to know that he's good at this, and he pulls out all the stops now. He wants Quentin to forget that his feet ever ached at all. He knows he succeeds when Quentin moans, louder than he obviously intended, because he immediately flushes in a way that has nothing to do with the heat of the water. He attempts to pull his foot back, clearly embarrassed, but Eliot doesn't let him. "Enjoying yourself?" he asks, a teasing smirk on his lips.

The flush deepens. "It's been forever since - Well, not _forever,_ but you know what I mean. And I'm pregnant, everything's more sensitive."

Eliot's smirk deepens. "Is this turning you on, Coldwater?"

Quentin could easily be mistaken for a boiling lobster at this point. "Maybe."

Something in Quentin's face gives Eliot pause. "Should I stop?" he asks.

Quentin shakes his head. "No, it's - You're fine. Good. It's good. It's just..." He sighs. "I have literally never been this easily turned on in my life, but the whole - " He gestures vaguely towards his belly - "thing is messing with my head a little. I _want_ you to keep touching me," he hastens to reassure Eliot. "I'd tell you if I didn't. But I mean, you know how I overthink things sometimes."

Eliot hesitates, but resumes the foot rub after a moment. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

Quentin sinks back into the water, considering. "If we'd gotten our heads out of our asses, and I wasn't pregnant, I'd be all over having sex with you. I know my limits, what I'm comfortable with, usually. But being pregnant... It's already messed with my head, you've seen it. I want to sleep with you again, but I'm... not... sure, exactly, where to start, I guess? Figuring out what might've changed."

"There's no pressure," Eliot promises. "I mean, don't get me wrong-- I want to. You're so sexy, Q, pregnant and not. But I'd never want to make you uncomfortable."

Quentin gives Eliot a soft, grateful smile. "That means a lot," he says sincerely. "It really does. I want to try to figure this out with you; I mean, once the baby's born, we aren't gonna have a whole lot of time to ourselves, and I don't really want to wait _that_ long to be that close to you again."

"We can take things at your pace," Eliot says. "Next foot. Obviously I can't remember our one time together, but you mentioned knowing what you liked before you got pregnant. What were you comfortable with then?"

Quentin obediently switches feet. "Touching," he says thoughtfully. "I was pretty okay with hands being just about anywhere. Penetration was a little more iffy, really depended on the mood I was in, but I was usually pretty much always good with anal. My chest has always been sensitive, but usually as long as I avoid the top surgery scars, then I'm okay."

Eliot hesitates again as something horrible occurs to him. "You were... in the mood for it last time, right?"

Quentin gives him a tender look. "El. You asked me no less than five times if I was sure that that was how I wanted it."

"Oh." Eliot smiles. "All right, good. Well." He clears his throat. "We could start out slow? If you wanted. When you wanted. Just some touching, and you can direct me from there."

Quentin returns his smile with a soft one of his own. "That sounds like a plan," he agrees, settling more comfortably into the still-warm water. "But not right now. This foot rub is honestly better than an orgasm."

Eliot chuckles and redoubles his efforts.

* * *

They finally decide to tell Ted about their relationship a few days later. They haven't exactly been trying to _hide_ it, there just hasn't been a chance to tell him, so now they're making that chance. Quentin invites him to their apartment for dinner, Eliot cooks, and as soon as Quentin opens the door to let Ted in, he says, "Alright, what did you two do now?"

Quentin affects his best innocent expression. "I have no idea what you mean," he says. "Can't I just invite my dad over for dinner when I haven't seen him in a while?"

"Sure, but you always tried buttering me up before telling me about something big," Ted points out, pulling quentin in for a hug. "Remember the conversation about the drama teacher accepting you as a stage hand?"

"Oh my God, it took forever to clean the oven," Quentin groans. "Well, it's not me cooking this time. El's taking care of everything."

Ted hums, making his way into the kitchen where Eliot is, indeed, busy as a bee. "And how are you, son?"

Eliot turns to throw Ted a grin over his shoulder. "Pretty great," he says. "Can I get you a glass of wine?"

"A small one," Ted decides. "Red, if you have it."

"What do you take me for?" Eliot asks, grinning as he abandons the stove to grab a glass and a bottle of chianti. "Q, do you want a drink?"

"Sparkling white, please," Quentin says, giving Eliot a smile. 

Eliot obligingly turns to the fridge. He pours them both a drink and hands Ted's over, laughing when his gaze goes straight to the other glass. "It's grape juice," he says, holding it out for Quentin. "I'm not plying him with alcohol, don't worry."

Ted relaxes. "Okay," he laughs. "I mean, I didn't _really_ think - "

"But it crossed your mind," Quentin teases. "El's been worse than my own damn doctor about this baby's health, there's no way he'd give me alcohol."

Eliot winces. "I haven't been that bad," he says, but it's weak.

Quentin snorts. "'Think of the baby' might as well be your catchphrase lately," he laughs. 

Eliot rolls his eyes, but he's grinning.

He sends Ted and Quentin to the table with their wine, along with a glass for himself, while he finishes dishing up. It's not the fanciest meal he's ever made, and it doesn't really go with the wine, but he thinks Ted will appreciate the stuffed pork chops and sauteed potatoes. He's not too far off the mark, if the expression on Ted's face as he sets a plate in front of him is any indication. He grins. "And there's brownie ice cream bombs for dessert."

Ted’s eyebrows all but disappear into his hair, and he turns to look at Quentin, who can’t conceal his grin. “All right, now I _know_ you two have something to tell me. What’s going on?”

Quentin, however, turns to Eliot first. “Do you want to tell him or should I?”

Eliot laughs. "He's your dad."

"Well, yeah, but you haven't gotten to share any of the big news yet," Quentin points out. 

" _What_ news?" Ted demands.

Eliot rolls his eyes, but doesn't put up a fight. "You were right, Ted," he says. "Turns out Q and I can make each other very happy."

Ted blinks, and then breaks out into a beaming grin. "I knew it! I _knew_ you two were closer than 'just friends.' Was I right about the other thing, too? I was, wasn't I?"

Very little can make Eliot Waugh blush, but he blushes now. "Uhh, yes," he says. "The baby's mine. Although in my defence, I didn't actually lie about it. I didn't know when you asked me."

Ted gives Quentin a significant look, and he has the grace to look sheepish. "There was lots of drama, and I didn't want to risk what we had," he offers by way of explanation. "I didn't want Teddy to not have Eliot in his life at all."

"Well, that's all well and good, but - " Ted cuts himself off, blinking. "Did you say 'Teddy'?"

Eliot's surprise shows on his face, but he recovers quickly. "Yeah," he says. "We wanted to name him after the person who's stood by Q through everything, no matter what."

Ted blinks again, rapidly this time, and when he speaks again, his voice is choked. " _Q._ "

Quentin scoots his chair closer so he can wrap his father in a hug. "If anyone deserves to have their grandkids named after them, it's you," he says, quiet but no less fierce for it. 

"Really," Eliot adds, "it's an honour to name him after you. And..." He picks up his glass, suddenly fascinated by the swirl of the deep burgundy wine. "And I'm really glad that Q has always had you to look out for him."

Quentin sits back in his chair as Ted straightens - but instead of saying anything, Ted gets up, coming around the table to pull Eliot to his feet and into his arms. "And I'm glad that he has you now, too," he says. "And even if you and Q broke up tomorrow, Eliot, I'd still consider you my own kid."

Eliot's hands tighten into fists in Ted's shirt, and he holds on even as his expression goes slack with shock. "Ted," he says, and that's as far as he gets before his throat closes.

"You're _our_ family, now," Ted says fiercely, rocking Eliot slightly. "Me, Q, Teddy, and all of your friends."

Eliot closes his eyes so that Quentin can't see the sudden tears in them. "Thank you," he whispers.

They manage to calm down and actually finish their dinner after that, talking about the upcoming semester and Quentin's plans concerning maternity leave, as well as how they're going to handle the Tut once Teddy is born. Eventually, though, the food is all eaten, the wine (and sparkling grape juice) is all drunk, and Ted has to head home. There's more hugs and even a few more tears as they say goodbye, and then Quentin and Eliot clean up the dishes before settling in for a quiet evening. They put on _Despicable Me,_ Quentin maybe cries a little bit at the very end when Gru tells Margot that he will catch her and never let her go again, and then they clean themselves up for bed.

Ever since they finally got their shit together, they've slept in Eliot's bed, and even though Quentin knows that sometimes he annoys Eliot with his tossing and turning in the middle of the night, he loves sleeping with Eliot. Tonight, he gets himself settled on his back before reaching for Eliot. "Teddy's been sleeping on my bladder lately, maybe if I sleep on my back, he'll let me get through the night without having to get up to pee."

Eliot snorts and leans in for a soft kiss. "Not even born and he's already an asshole," he jokes. "Seems like you're pretty set on the 'Teddy' thing now. You sure?"

"I'm sure," Quentin hums, tugging him in for another kiss. "Especially after Dad's little display earlier. But he's not wrong; you _are_ family."

Eliot smiles. "I hope so," he says. "You're having my baby."

Quentin smiles into the next kiss. "Yeah, I am. Even though we took literally every precaution we could."

Eliot snorts. "That much, I know," he says. "Some things are just meant to happen, I guess."

"That's a surprisingly romantic view for you," Quentin teases. 

"What can I say? You bring out the best in me."

Quentin chuckles warmly, scooting in closer for another kiss, pressing himself against Eliot as much as he can. "Really? And what _other_ kinds of things do I bring out in you?"

Eliot chuckles, one hand falling to grip Quentin's waist. "You know exactly what you bring out in me," he says.

"Yeah? Maybe I want you to show me," Quentin murmurs, his own hand drifting over the curve of Eliot's shoulders, palm skimming over his ribs. 

"Q," Eliot sighs, his eyes fluttering closed. "You know I want you."

"I do," Quentin concedes, his hand covering Eliot's ass, kneading once, slowly. "And I want you."

Eliot hides his face against Quentin's throat. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Quentin says, barely more than a whisper as he tilts his head, bares the skin of his throat to Eliot's mouth. "I want you to fuck me, El."

Eliot groans against Quentin's skin and kisses his neck, the hand on his waist pulling him even closer. "God, yes, I want that."

Quentin makes a pleased noise. "Now we just need to figure out what to do with the beach ball attached to my stomach," he laughs, breathless. 

"I have a few ideas," Eliot murmurs into the corner of his jaw. "Turn over."

Quentin's breath catches, and then he moves to do as Eliot asks. "Been thinking about this, have you?"

"Maybe a little," Eliot admits, pressing up close behind Quentin. He sits up a little so that he can still kiss at Quentin's neck, and reaches over to get his hand on his belly, run it down to tease at the top of his thigh.

Quentin shivers delicately against Eliot, arches his back and breathes, " _El._ "

"I've got you," Eliot murmurs, letting his hand wander further, pressing briefly between Quentin's legs. He's wearing underwear still, they both are, but he's warm there and Eliot enjoys the gentle squeeze of his thighs. "You feel so good, Q."

Quentin maybe mewls a little, rocking into the press of Eliot's hand. The maternity underwear he bought off of Amazon specifically for its stretchiness and breathability suddenly feels constricting, and he can't help but squeeze his thighs a little tighter, desperate for a little more friction. "Eliot, please," he pleads, no louder than a whisper. "Don't tease, we've already waited so long..."

Eliot hums into his throat, curls his fingers a little more firmly against the heat of him. "I want to take my time with you," he says. He smiles. "I have no idea what it was like last time, but I want to make this good."

Quentin sighs. "It was good," he assures Eliot. "So good. Little fast, but..." He reaches down, wraps his fingers around Eliot's wrist and squeezes. "I love you. Love your hands."

Eliot's smile widens, and he lets his hand go lax. "Then put them where you want them."

Quentin makes a frustrated noise, giving in to the urge to kick Eliot in the shin - albeit gently. "Fine," he huffs, shifting his hand so that he's covering Eliot's, pulling it up. "Here, I want you - here." This last is sighed as he slips their joined hands past the waistband of his underwear, as he guides Eliot's fingers to his cock, hips twitching at the first touch, overly-sensitive the way he's been the entire pregnancy. 

Eliot sighs right along with him, his breath warm on Quentin's shoulder as his clever fingers rub lightly over his cock. "Fuck, you're hard," he breathes. "And-- _oh._ And wet."

Quentin lets out a breathless laugh, hips rocking into Eliot's touch. "What else would you expect?" he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. "I've got a gorgeous man's hand on my cock, he's pressed _all_ up against me..."

Eliot hums again as he starts kissing along Quentin's shoulder, and firms up his touch a little. "Should we take these off?" he asks.

Quentin nods fervently, shifting his hand to the waistband of his underwear. "Yours, too?"

"You'll have to be patient," Eliot warns him, and starts to withdraw his hand.

Quentin whines, but doesn't protest; he wants them bare too badly. Instead, he starts pushing at the last scrap of cloth keeping him from feeling Eliot everywhere. Eliot pulls away just long enough to lose his own underwear, and then he's back, one arm snaking around Quentin's waist to pull him against him once more, and - yep. Quentin can feel him, all right.

He moans when Eliot's fingers find his slit, and then again when they dip inside, circling his hole experimentally. His hips rock, Quentin unable to make up his mind about which pressure he wants to push into more, and he reaches for Eliot's arm again, grips it almost tight enough to bruise. " _El,_ please don't make me wait any more," he begs. 

Eliot responds by twisting his wrist so that he can rub his thumb over Quentin's cock, hard. "Tell me what you want, sweetheart," he murmurs.

Quentin makes a wounded, desperate noise. " _Fuck_ me, Eliot," he gasps. 

Eliot sighs against him and circles his hole once more, just testing the give of him. He's soaked, and the way he cants his hips must tell Eliot he's ready, because it's nothing at all then for him to slip a finger into him. Quentin moans, long and unashamedly loud. His grip on Eliot's arm tightens impossibly further, and he relaxes around Eliot's finger, welcoming him eagerly. "That's it," he breathes. "That - _fuck._ "

"Yeah?" Eliot asks, though it sounds like he knows. He crooks his finger a little bit, slowly fucking it in and out of Quentin's body, and thumbs over his cock once more.

Quentin all but melts back into Eliot. "Yeah," he agrees, hips rolling with the movement of Eliot's finger. After a couple of long moments, he prompts, "More."

Eliot is nothing if not obliging. He slips his finger free, but doesn't give Quentin a chance to complain before he presses two back into him, curling them exactly the way Quentin needs. Quentin makes a pleased noise, and loses himself a little then to the rhythm of Eliot's fingers fucking him. Eliot works him up to three and then four fingers before Quentin finally loses his patience. He releases Eliot's arm in favor of reaching back for his hip. "Eliot, please," he whines. "I'm ready, I'm so fucking _ready,_ I want you to fuck me properly, fuck me again."

Quentin can feel Eliot's own need against him when his hips jerk in answer, and his thumb sweeps over Quentin's own cock with a little more urgency than before. "Okay. Okay, I will," he promises - but then he hesitates. "Do you need me to get a condom?"

Quentin shakes his head. "No," he says, "not unless you want to use one."

"No," Eliot rasps, kissing Quentin's shoulder, "I'm good." He finally pulls his hand away then, but Quentin barely has time to mourn the loss before he feels a touch on the back of his thigh, urging his leg forward. Quentin moves obediently, following Eliot's direction as he hikes up his leg, gives Eliot room to press in closer.

"Come on, El," he pants. "Don't leave me empty like this."

"I've got you," Eliot soothes him. He presses impossibly closer, his hand disappearing for a moment; Quentin hears him hiss as he takes himself in hand - and then he feels him. Quentin's breath catches in his chest, his mouth dropping open in a silent 'o' as Eliot pushes forward, slowly, gently filling Quentin the way that he so _desperately_ needs. 

Quentin is almost sobbing with how good it feels by the time Eliot is fully buried in him, every nerve ending in his body alight. "El," he breathes. "El, please, please - _move._ "

Eliot moans, his breath hot on Quentin's neck as he rocks his hips, pulling almost all the way out before he buries himself inside Quentin again. " _Fuck_. God, baby, you feel-- amazing."

Quentin whines, back arching to encourage Eliot into a better angle. "El, _Christ,_ " he sighs, hips working and fucking himself back into Eliot's thrusts. "Fuck, fuck - just like that, El."

"That's it," Eliot moans. His hand is warm as it moves over Quentin's belly and then lower, until his fingers curl against the hair between his legs. "Let me take care of you."

Quentin's hand falls to Eliot's wrist again, an anchoring point of contact as he sinks into the mattress. "You will," he sighs, breath hitching with Eliot's next thrust. "You always take such good care of me, Eliot."

Eliot hums an agreement, hips rocking against Quentin's as his fingers find Quentin's cock again, rubbing in slow, firm circles, unhurried by Quentin’s breathless plea for _more._ All Quentin can do is hang on for the ride, let Eliot work his body like he's done it a hundred times and not just once that he can't remember. Before he realizes it, Quentin's choking out Eliot's name, a short burst of sound right before he tumbles over the edge - and then keeps going, further and faster until he's sobbing as he comes again, overstimulated and too sensitive to _not._ Behind him, Eliot swears, hips still rocking, pace increasing only slightly before he thrusts in once, deep, and stills. He comes with a groan that he buries in the crook of Quentin’s throat, and Quentin can’t help but gasp something not quite a sob at the feel of it, Eliot’s cock twitching inside of him as he spills, deep and hot.

" _Fuck,_ " Quentin sighs, voice rough and catching on the drawn-out syllable, as he practically melts, boneless, into Eliot's arms. "Christ, you made a mess of me, didn't you?"

Eliot chuckles against his shoulder, and his voice is deeper than Quentin has ever heard it. "I thought that was the idea," he says.

”I’m not complaining,” Quentin laughs, squeezing Eliot’s wrist, his smile clear in his tone.

Eliot smiles too, and leans forward until he can kiss Quentin's cheek. "You sure you're okay?" he asks.

"I'm sure," Quentin answers, shifting until he can catch Eliot's lips in a proper kiss. "One hundred percent."

Eliot hums against Quentin's lips and eases himself back, hissing softly as they part. "I'll get you something to clean up with," he murmurs. "Do you need anything?"

"Some water would be great," Quentin says, sighing as he rolls over onto his back, giving Eliot a satisfied smile.

"Don't look at me like that," Eliot says, laughing as he leaves the room. "I'll never let you out of bed."

"That's supposed to discourage me?" Quentin calls, grinning as he stretches. "Honestly, with the amount of effort it takes to get out of bed, I wouldn't complain if you wanted to keep me here forever."

Eliot's laughter is all he gets in response as he busies himself in the bathroom. When he comes back in with a warm washcloth and a glass of water, he almost drops them both. " _Fuck_ , Q."

"What?" Quentin asks, deceptively innocent. He's got one hand on the swollen curve of his belly, the other reaching below to play with himself, fingers moving through the slick mess that Eliot left between his legs.

"I thought you wanted to clean up, not make more mess," Eliot says. A slow smile creeps across his face, and he sets his things down on the nightstand and crawls back onto the bed. Gentle fingers grasp Quentin's wrist, pulling his hand away, and then those fingers replace Quentin's own as he catches Quentin's mouth in a soft, heated kiss.

Quentin sighs as Eliot touches him, reaching for his other hand to twine their fingers together. "I never said anything about cleaning up," he counters, breathless as he arches into Eliot's touch. " _You_ were the one who mentioned that. I just said I wanted some water."

"Hydration is very important," Eliot allows, and eases two fingers inside Quentin. "Should I stop?"

Quentin hums, hips rolling slow and steady into the movement of Eliot's hand. "No," he decides. "I want this more right now. Water will still be there later, right?"

"Almost certainly," Eliot agrees. He kisses Quentin again, fucks his fingers in deeper. "What do you need?"

"This," Quentin breathes, leaning up for another kiss. "You."

Eliot moans into his mouth, and rocks his hips so that Quentin can feel his renewed interest. "I can work with that."

* * *

They end up spending most of the next day in bed catching up on the sleep they missed the night before, but after that they find a balance between sleep and sex. It’s difficult, especially when Quentin gets in a particular mood thanks to his hormones, but they manage, even the times where Quentin’s almost too horny to function but can’t stand to be touched.

Shortly after the eight month check up, Kady and Julia start pestering Quentin and Eliot about having a baby shower. Quentin’s categorically against the idea, but when Eliot points out that they could turn the situation to their advantage, he changes his tune. So, instead of a baby shower, two weeks before Quentin’s due date, everyone comes over to gorge themselves on baked goods and move all of Quentin’s shit from his old room to the one he now shares with Eliot, and transform his former bedroom into a nursery. 

”Are you _sure_ I can’t help?” Quentin asks, frowning, even as he braces a hand against the small of his back, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “What if you guys break something? None of the rest of you are a minor mender.”

"Q, sweetheart," Eliot says, coming over to press a kiss to his forehead and maybe rub his belly a little bit. "If we break something important, we'll bring it to you, but most things can be set aside until after the baby's born. You shouldn't over-exert yourself right now."

"What he said," Kady agrees. She looks oddly approving. "Besides, what do you take us for? We're not going to _break_ anything."

Right on cue, there's a small crash, and an even smaller, "Oops."

"Margo!" Julia snaps from inside the bedroom.

"Q, your lamp's dead!" Margo calls. "But don't trouble yourself with a minor mending, it was fucking hideous anyway."

Quentin pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a couple of deep breaths. "All right," he sighs, leaning into Eliot for a moment. "I'll go... sort clothes in the living room. I've been meaning to go through my wardrobe anyway for stuff I never wore even before I got pregnant."

"Take it easy," Eliot warns him. "If I find out you're pushing yourself too hard I'll put a binding spell on you."

Quentin grins cheekily at him. "Kinky," he chides. "Save it for after everyone else is gone." 

Penny makes a gagging noise as he walks past with another armful of clothes. "Especially the _psychic._ "

Eliot grins and pulls Quentin in for a kiss. "I'll come and check on you in a bit, okay?"

Quentin hums and leans in for another kiss. "Okay. Try to keep them from breaking any more of my shit? Even if _they_ \- " He raises his voice so that he can be heard clearly over the sound of Kady and Penny bickering over... something, "think it's hideous, it's still my shit and I'd like it to remain in one piece."

"We'll fix the lamp," Eliot promises. "I'll put Bambi in charge of softer items."

"I heard that!"

Quentin chuckles, heading back into the living room and leaving his friends and partner to their self-assigned duties. His stomach twinges as he lowers himself carefully to the couch, and Quentin grimaces, rubbing absently at the bump. "Sorry, Teddy," he murmurs, reaching for the closest pile of clothes and starting to sort through them. "But if you didn't sit right on my bladder and spine, I wouldn't have to sit down so weirdly." Teddy, of course, doesn't respond, but Quentin can't help smiling anyway as he settles in to work. 

* * *

They work pretty much all day, stopping only for lunch and a couple of coffee breaks. Eliot flits between the bedroom and the living room, determined to check on Quentin regularly and make sure he isn't overdoing it, while the others actually do most of the work. By the time they're done, all of Quentin's stuff is either put away in Eliot's room - _their_ room - or stacked in boxes in the little office that they rarely use anyway for him to go through when he has time, and the new nursery has a fresh coat of mint green paint drying on the walls. It's going to look pretty good by the time they're finished.

"Hey, you," Eliot says, when they all file out into the living room. He perches on the arm of the sofa closest to Quentin and leans into him, kisses the top of his head. "How's it going? We were thinking of ordering in if you're hungry."

Quentin makes a face, rubbing at his stomach. "You guys go ahead, Teddy's not having any sort of mention of food right now. I swear, it feels like he's dancing salsa in there today."

Eliot frowns. "Is he okay?"

"I think so? Nothing feels _wrong,_ it's just... weird," Quentin settles on. 

"Is it Braxton Hicks?" Alice asks, concerned. 

Quentin shrugs. "Probably? Those usually start coming a couple weeks before the due date, don't they?"

"Should we call Dr Larosh?" Kady asks. "Or we could go to the hospital if you're really uncomfortable."

Quentin shifts on the couch, trying to find a way to relieve the pressure of Teddy sitting on his bladder. "No, I'm fine, it's - " He blinks, then glances down at the sudden gush of wetness across his lap. "Well, actually. The hospital is probably a good idea? I think that might've been my water breaking."

Eliot jumps to his feet. " _What?_ "

"No, yeah, that was definitely my water breaking," Quentin decides, still staring at his lap and ignoring Eliot for the moment. "Kady, could you call Dr Larosh and let her know what's going on?"

"Holy shit," Alice breathes, jumping to her feet as well, Penny following suit. They both look vaguely panicked. "Is there anything we can do?"

Quentin waves a hand in Eliot's direction. "Catch him if he passes out?"

Eliot sways on his feet. "That's a distinct possibility," he admits faintly. "Is this too early? It feels like it's too early."

"Babies come when they want to, I guess," Julia says. "I'll get you some towels, Q."

Kady is already on the phone, and she glances over at them. "Any contractions yet?"

"It's only two weeks early," Alice points out, hovering anxiously over Quentin as Penny moves, alarmed, towards Eliot. 

"Easy, dude, the last thing Q needs is you passing out on him," he says, holding out a hand just in case.

Quentin ignores both of them in favor of answering Kady. "They're mild; I thought they were just cramps, honestly? But they've been getting stronger all day. Alice, could you grab me another pair of pants, please?"

Kady relates this information to the doctor while Alice and Julia help Quentin clean up and Penny does his best to keep Eliot standing. It's only a brief conversation, and it isn't long before she's thanking the doctor and hanging up. "She said the baby's probably going to take its sweet time coming. There's no rush to get you in, but she said with it being your first baby you might want to go now?"

"Yes," Eliot says, instantly. "Hospital now, please. Hospital good."

"Are you sure _you_ don't need the hospital more, caveman?" Quentin teases, gasping when another cramp - contraction - hits. "Shit, okay, no joking. Yeah, let's go to the hospital. I don't want to take the chance Teddy decides to be a contrary bastard just to spite the doctor and gets here quick."

Afterwards, Eliot will not remember making it to the hospital. He's vaguely aware that Ted has been called and is on his way as they try to rush Quentin into the building between one contraction and the next. Eliot is already sure that his hand will never recover, but he wouldn't make Quentin let go for the world. A helpful nurse grabs them a wheelchair and directs them to the room Quentin's doctor has waiting for them. Kady shoves Eliot out of the way so that she can push Quentin herself, and then they're all rushing down the hall after them, and then-- And then they're gone.

Eliot stands in the corridor, flanked by Julia and Margo, and abruptly misses the bone-shattering grip Quentin had on his hand just a minute ago. "I'm going to be a father," he says, rather stupidly, gazing imploringly at the door Quentin and Kady just disappeared behind. "He's having my baby right now. He's having my baby, and I--" A familiar shout issuing from behind that door makes his entire body jolt. "I'm not in there. Why aren't I in there? I want to be in there."

"You're not in there because you _stopped walking,_ idiot," Margo says, not entirely unkindly as she plants a hand in the middle of his back and shoves. " _Go._ "

Eliot stumbles forward, and then turns back to look at Margo. He feels very pale. He might be shaking. "Bambi," he says. "I'm going to be a father."

Margo's expression softens. "You are. Now get going, El, or Q's gonna take your balls for his own."

Eliot goes.

”Took you long enough,” Kady snarks when Eliot practically skids around the corner and into the room, the nurses giving him an amused look before one of them hands him some scrubs to get into. “Get lost?”

”I don’t care about that, just _get over here,_ ” Quentin gets out through gritted teeth, making an impatient motion towards Eliot, reaching out imperiously. “I swear to God, if you’d missed our kid’s birth because you actually fainted, I would have killed you, because I’m _not_ going through all of this again, motherfucker.”

"I'm right here," Eliot says, rushing over and slipping his hand back into Quentin's. "I've got you, baby, you're okay." He looks up abruptly at Dr Larosh. "Is he okay?"

Dr Larosh's expression is distinctly amused. "Yes, he's okay. Your son is bound and determined to get out in the world, but he's not rushing abnormally fast. Two weeks before the projected due date isn't unusual, even for first-time parents. We're going to keep a close eye on you, Quentin, but you're in good hands."

"I know," Quentin sighs, expression scrunching as another contraction hits and he squeezes Eliot's hand reflexively. " _Shit._ "

Dr Larosh makes a note of the time. "You've still got a little ways to go before the birth will be imminent," she says. "The contractions are still fairly far apart." She gives Quentin and Eliot a smile, tucking the clipboard in her hand into the pocket at the end of the bed. "I'll be back in a little bit to check on you all, okay? You're not the only new parents I've got tonight."

"Thank you, doctor," Eliot says, and kisses Quentin's hair. "I love you, you're doing great."

Quentin grumbles something under his breath, giving Dr Larosh a strained smile as she leaves before he speaks again. "You're never sticking your cock in me again without two condoms on, just so you know."

"I think that makes them less effective," Eliot offers.

"Then you're just not gonna get to fuck me at all," Quentin says sweetly. "Because I'm not taking a chance that this is happening again because labor already sucks _ass_ and it's not even close to time for the epidural."

"Okay, fine," Eliot says, mindful of the danger in Quentin's eyes. "You can fuck me, how about that?"

"Oh my god," Kady sighs.

"Deal," Quentin says. "Any idea when Dad's going to get here?"

"He's on his way," Eliot promises. "He won't be long."

"Great," Quentin says, then braces for the next contraction.

The next several hours pass in a predictable pattern; the contractions get closer and closer together, and Dr Larosh drifts in and out, checking the timing of the contractions - which Eliot and Kady take turns noting down, because Quentin's too busy swearing a blue streak to bother looking at the clock - and then checking the dilation of Quentin's cervix when he's ready. Ted and their friends manage to wrangle a visit before Dr Larosh puts the embargo on any more visits as the contractions get more frequent and Teddy gets closer to arriving. Kady keeps their friends updated through Penny, notifying them when Quentin gets his epidural. That in and of itself is a production, and if any of the nurses were psychic, they'd have some mental scars from the cussing-out Quentin gave them at "Can you bend over a little more?" If he could fucking draw the breath to curse them, bent over with his beach-ball stomach squashed against his diaphragm to make his spine protrude so that they can insert the needle for the epidural as he is, Quentin would.

Still, once the epidural is _in,_ suddenly being in labor isn't so bad. Quentin still can't breathe quite properly, but that's normal, Dr Larosh assures him and Eliot, as his body starts preparing for the home stretch. Another physical examination leaves them with the news that any moment now Teddy will crown, and then the hard work will _really_ begin.

Quentin's not entirely sure how they pass the time, honestly; all he knows is that suddenly, even through the epidural, there's a vice around his middle, and a sudden pressure between his legs, a conviction that he needs to push _now._ Right on cue, Dr Larosh sweeps into the room, already giving instructions to the nurses who are rocks in the storm that is Quentin and Eliot's combined nerves. From there, Quentin loses time to the pressure and mild panic, then to the anger, swearing viciously at Eliot for knocking him up and at nature for giving him this damned body and making him go through all of this just to hold his goddamned kid in his arms, and at Dr Larosh when she tells him to push when he's already giving it everything he goddamn motherfucking has, until - 

Until suddenly, the pressure is gone from between his legs, and Quentin practically collapses backwards onto the bed, but immediately struggles to push himself onto his elbows as soon as he hears Teddy scream. "Give him to me," he demands, frantic. "I need - I need to see him, I need him, _give me my son._ " Dr Larosh doesn't argue, just lifts the squalling, squirming newborn carefully up and over the edge of Quentin's hospital gown and gets him settled in Quentin's arms, against his chest. Quentin doesn't even care about the still-attached umbilical cord, couldn't pay any attention to anything that isn't his son in his arms if he wanted to. He's so unbelievably, beautifully ugly, and _alive,_ still screaming for all his little lungs are worth, face scrunched up like a sun-dried tomato. "Oh, God," Quentin whispers, already so in love it hurts as he cradles the back of Teddy's still-wet head as Dr Larosh sets about clamping and cutting the cord. "Shit, you - you're here. You're _here,_ hi, Teddy."

Eliot is laughing, crying, pushing Quentin's sweat-soaked hair back from his face and kissing him soundly on the forehead. "He's perfect, Q," he whispers. "Look at him. I love you so much."

"You talking to me or him?" Quentin jokes without taking his eyes off of Teddy, who's started to quiet in his arms. "He's so tiny, oh my God."

"We'll take him off you in a minute," one of the nurses says. "Clean him up, check him over, and then you can have him back." She smiles when Eliot looks up at her. "But take your time. He's happy right where he is for now."

Quentin manages to nod his understanding, still unable to look away from their son. He sweeps his thumb gently over the back of Teddy's head, smiles when the motion soothes Teddy into a soft whine. "God, I almost can't believe that he's finally here," he murmurs. He glances up, smiles at Eliot, and then looks at Kady. "Get over here, godmother number one."

"Godmother?" Kady repeats, incredulous, though she does creep closer to the bed.

"Yeah," Quentin says, still smiling. "You've been here from the start, so if you want it..."

Kady's laugh sounds more than a little watery. "If I fuck your kid up, it's your fault," she warns him.

"That's what Julia and Margo are for preventing," Quentin chuckles, smile widening. "And his grandfather, honestly. Multiple failsafes."

"We know he's in good hands with you," Eliot adds, his arm curling around Quentin's shoulders. "You've more than proved that."

Kady sniffles. "Well, if you're sure..."

"We are," Eliot says, leaving no room for argument.

"Then yes," Kady says. She hasn't taken her eyes off the baby. "I'll be his godmother. But I'm not holding him while he's covered in goo."

That surprises a laugh from Quentin, who glances back down at Teddy, resting against his chest. "He is kind of disgusting, isn't he?" He sounds impossibly fond. 

"Should I take him to get cleaned up?" the nurse asks.

Quentin nods. "So we can get the rest of our family in here," he says, glancing up to give Eliot a tired, soft smile. 

"You did great," Eliot tells him as Teddy is scooped up by the nurse. He immediately starts crying again. "I'm so proud of you, Q."

"Thanks," Quentin huffs, smiling as he tracks Teddy and the nurse across the room. They don't leave as she starts cleaning him up, weighing and measuring him and giving him his first-ever check up, and suddenly Quentin understands all those stories of parents doing the impossible to protect their kids. Teddy is still fussing, alternating between screaming and crying, punctuated with the occasional sobbing whimper, and if he had to be taken from the room and out of Quentin's line of sight right now, Quentin might curse someone. 

Eliot seems to sense this, because his arm tightens around Quentin's shoulders, and neither he nor Kady takes their eyes off of Teddy for a second.

The nurse doesn't leave the room with him, however, and it isn't long until she's bringing the baby back over, clean now and wrapped in a soft blue blanket. "Should we let someone else have a cuddle?" she asks.

Quentin glances up at Eliot. "I think you should hold your son," he says, smiling softly. "Then Kady can have a turn."

The nurse rounds the bed, and Eliot steps forward eagerly to take Teddy from her. He doesn't stop crying, but his pitch does drop a little, and Eliot beams down at him with tears in his eyes. "Hi, sweetie," he coos. "I'm your papa. I'm so glad you're finally here."

Quentin can't stop the way his smile spreads across his face at the sight of Eliot with their son in his arms. "Finally. Now he can interrupt _both_ of our sleep schedules," he jokes. 

Eliot laughs, still smiling down at the baby. "Your daddy's been interrupting my sleep schedule all by himself, getting up every forty minutes to pee."

"Still his fault," Quentin teases. "Now I can get more than an hour of sleep at a time."

"We'll see what he has to say about that," Eliot chuckles, bouncing the baby experimentally. It doesn't stop the crying, but it doesn't make it worse either, so he goes with it - and then remembers that Kady is also waiting to hold him. He looks up at her, his eyes wide. He doesn't know if he can let go of him yet.

It must show on his face, because Kady just laughs. "Don't worry about it, pal, I can wait." She glances at Quentin. "Should I get your dad?"

Quentin nods. "Yeah. I think I can handle seeing him and maybe Julia and Margo? But that's about it, I'm... pretty wiped. I'm gonna crash hard when the adrenaline wears off."

"I'll be right back," Kady says, and slips from the room.

They're about as alone as they're going to get, nurses still flitting about cleaning up and getting ready to move Quentin and Teddy out of the delivery room. Eliot sidles back up to the bed, with Teddy finally quieting in his arms. "How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice soft.

"I can feel the crash approaching," Quentin confesses in a murmur. "But I'm just - I can't believe he's finally here, that we can finally hold him." He reaches up, brushes the back of one knuckle against Teddy's cheek and is rewarded with a quiet gurgle. 

"He's perfect," Eliot says again. If he could stop tearing up at any time now, that would be so great. "Do you want him back?"

"Do you think you can let him go?" Quentin asks, half-teasing, half-serious. 

"For you, yeah," Eliot says, and leans down so that Quentin can take Teddy from him.

They pass Teddy carefully between them, getting him situated without upsetting him again just before Kady returns with his namesake in tow. Ted enters the room cautiously, like he half-expects to be told to leave, and his expression lights up when he catches sight of his son and grandson on the hospital bed. Quentin smiles, adjusting Teddy in his arms so that he can squint up at his grandfather as he draws closer. “Say hi to Theodore Rupert Coldwater-Waugh,” Quentin murmurs, bouncing Teddy a little. “Also known as Teddy.”

Ted smiles so wide his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Hi, little guy," he murmurs. "Curly Q, he's beautiful."

"Isn't he?" Quentin laughs, breathless. 

"You're amazing," Ted tells Quentin - and looks up at Eliot. "Have you told him he's amazing?"

"I have," Eliot says, smiling.

Ted wipes his eyes. "Can I hold him?"

Quentin nods, gesturing for Ted to come closer. "Mind his head," he can't help saying as he passes Teddy over, chuckling when Teddy gives this new person a suspicious look and whines.

"I have held a baby before, Q," Ted says, giving him an indulgent smile.

"He's a little territorial," Eliot confides.

Ted laughs. "I'll bet."

Quentin makes a face at Eliot. "Like you're any better," he huffs.

"Point," Eliot says. "I can't help it. He's just so precious."

"He is," Kady agrees, her hand resting on Ted's shoulder as she smiles down at Teddy. "Very precious."

"I suddenly understand all of those cliches about parents moving the world for their kids," Quentin admits, smiling.

"Trust me," Ted says, laughing, "there's a lot you don't understand until you have your own kids. Like the importance of wet wipes."

Quentin snorts. "Believe me, I'm already a convert on the importance of wet wipes," he laughs, smiling when Teddy frowns heavily, lower lip wobbling. "We've got a head start on a stash back at the apartment."

"Oh dear," Ted says. "Looks like someone wants his daddy back."

"Not even an hour old and already opinionated," Kady laughs as Quentin leans forward, opening his arms to take his son back. 

"I can't imagine being born is any less exhausting than giving birth," he says, smiling as he tucks Teddy into his arms. 

"Maybe we should leave you to rest," Ted says. "I'm sure Margo and Julia can occupy themselves for a little while."

Quentin sighs, giving Ted a rueful smile. "I think they'll have to," he concedes. 

One of the nurses glances over. "We're going to move you up to your own room in a minute, Mr Coldwater, and you'll be able to relax there. Is that okay?"

Quentin nods. "I think I can stay awake that long," he says, not entirely joking.

Ted reaches out to run a finger down his grandson's little cheek, and then Eliot steps out of the way so that he can pull Quentin into a one-armed hug. "We'll see you soon," he says. "Get some rest, Curly Q." He looks up at Eliot. "You look after them."

Eliot nods. "I will."

* * *

The next day or so is a bit of a blur to Quentin; he and Teddy get moved to another room to finish his recovery - including the unspeakable horror that was passing the first, largest postpartum clot, holy _fuck_ that was not something words alone could prepare Quentin for - and when they've rested, the rest of their friends come in briefly to visit and meet Teddy. Quentin and Teddy spend a total of four days in the hospital, all told, before Dr Larosh feels comfortable releasing them to go home. 

Eliot has stayed with them practically the entire time, and Quentin thinks he might be a little addicted to the sight of him with their son in his arms. Eliot fusses over the both of them as they're wheeled out to Kady's car, Kady herself waiting for them in the driver's seat. "Can't take the chance he'd wreck because he can't take his eyes off of your kid," she says, smirking at Eliot and throwing a wink at Quentin while Eliot splutters indignantly. Quentin just laughs and gets himself and Teddy arranged in the back seat, taking great care to buckle Teddy in safely as Eliot returns the wheelchair to the hospital then comes back to the car. 

They pass the drive amiably and quickly, and then Eliot takes Teddy while Kady wraps an arm around Quentin's waist, walking next to him as they enter the apartment building three abreast. The journey to their apartment is quick, but Quentin is still beyond ready to collapse onto the couch and cuddle with his family - though it looks like he won't get to do that just yet. As soon as the door opens, a resounding cry of " _Surprise!_ " goes up, and Quentin startles. 

"What the - " he starts, blinking at the sight of _everyone_ gathered in their apartment. 

"Figured we'd finish the late baby shower as a welcome home party," Kady says, grinning. "Come on, let's get you to the couch."

Quentin goes, feeling a little dazed. It's only when he's settled, with Teddy in his arms once again, that he finds his tongue. "Did you know they were planning this?" he asks Eliot, bewildered. 

"No," Eliot admits. He looks just as surprised as Quentin feels. "Is it okay?"

"We have cake!" Alice calls.

"It's fine," Quentin hastens to assure him, bouncing Teddy a little bit in his arms. "Just a little unexpected, obviously."

"Obviously," Margo says dryly, bringing glasses of what looks like sweet tea over, exchanging Eliot's for a kiss on the cheek before she sets Quentin's on the end table next to him. "That _is_ how surprises work."

"Thank you," Eliot says, because he doesn't know what else he can say. He sits down beside Quentin and eases an arm around his shoulders, smiles up at Margo. "This is all too much, guys.

Kady snorts. "Wait until you see the nursery."

Eliot's eyes widen. "What?"

"We finished it," Julia says cheerfully. 

"Since Teddy got so damn impatient," Penny adds, his smirk softening when his gaze falls on the infant in question. 

"It's all done up, nice and gorgeous for him," Margo says, curling up in the armchair. 

"Guys," Eliot says, and he thinks he can be forgiven for how suddenly choked-up he sounds. "This is too much."

Alice snorts, a derisive noise. “Quentin kept us alive through our third year finals, even you two,” she points out. “Julia and I might’ve actually starved in the library if he hadn’t dragged us out.”

”He’s also just my childhood best friend,” Julia adds, laughing. “He made me a godmother of his kid, of course I’m going to get a headstart on spoiling him.”

”And you practically run the Tut single-handedly whenever I have big articles coming up, or need to travel,” Margo chimes in, reaching over to nudge Eliot’s knee with a foot.

”I’m officially a grandfather, now, it’s in the contract to spoil my grandkid,” Ted offers as his defense.

"Thank you," Eliot says again. He can't say it enough. "Thank you, all of you." He gives Quentin a little squeeze. "This means so much to us, I just..."

Kady rolls her eyes. "Shut up," she says, not unkindly. "We're family."

"Yeah," Eliot says, helpless. "We are."

"Well, now that that's settled, here," Julia says, coming back into the living room from where she'd ducked into the kitchen; she now has two plates of cake in her hands, one of which she hands off to Ted. "I'll trade you some cake for some cuddle time with my godson."

Quentin laughs. "Only if that's red velvet cake," he teases. 

"With Alice's very secret cream cheese frosting, what kind of uncultured swine do you take me for?" Julia shoots back, smirking. 

"All right, deal."

Eliot shifts a little to allow for the trade of baby for cake, and then presses back in close against Quentin in the hope of being fed some. He isn't disappointed. "Alice, you've outdone yourself," he mumbles around his mouthful. "You really must give me the recipe."

Alice grins. "It wouldn't really be secret if I did that."

Eliot's eyes widen innocently. "I wouldn't tell anyone!"

”But it wouldn’t still be a _secret_ then, would it? She would’ve told someone,” Ted counters, grinning, and that sets everyone off in a spirited debate about what, exactly, constitutes the nature of a secret. Quentin’s content to stay out of it for the most part, leaning against Eliot and sharing the plate of cake with him as Teddy gets passed around the room. He falls asleep in Alice’s arms, a fact that she is absolutely _delighted_ by, and barely stirs as he finishes making the round about the room until he ends up back in Eliot’s arms. 

Mindful of the baby sleeping in his father’s arms, everyone starts settling down, but no one makes any move to leave just yet. The atmosphere reminds Quentin almost of the late nights at the Cottage, the ones where, in the middle of the week, their group, no matter where they _technically_ lived, would find themselves gathered in the main room, sprawled across every piece of furniture by midnight. Conversations ebb and flow now just as they did then, and Quentin lets himself drift as well. He ends up dozing off against Eliot’s shoulder, same as he had so many times before.

This time, however, Eliot adjusts their son in his arms so that he can wrap one around Quentin’s shoulder, pulling him in closer as he drifts off, pressing a kiss against his forehead.

It’s the best sleep Quentin’s ever gotten.


End file.
